


Green Eyes and Red Hair

by fringeperson



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), X-Men (Movieverse)
Genre: Don't copy to another site, F/M, Fem Harry is Rogue, Female Harry Potter, Loki is James, Natasha is Lily
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-19
Updated: 2020-11-18
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:35:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 26,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27626189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fringeperson/pseuds/fringeperson
Summary: He was a practical joker with messy black hair. She was a talented woman with bright red hair. It turned out that they both had green eyes. Their daughter, when she came, was untouchable for more reasons than one.~Originally posted in '17
Relationships: James Potter/Lily Evans Potter, Logan (X-Men) & Rogue (X-Men) & Harry Potter, Loki/Natasha Romanov
Comments: 9
Kudos: 255





	1. Chapter 1

Loki had been sent to live out a mortal life upon Midgard. Odin did this to him with annoying regularity, especially considering that travel to Midgard was forbidden otherwise, and Loki rarely did anything to warrant such treatment. Frigga protested the near-baseless banishment every time, though it never did any good. Loki was forced into a fresh mortal shell and barred from Asgard until his mortal form expired and his pure self was returned to Asgard once more. This time, the parents of his mortal form were Charlus and Dorea Potter.

~oOo~

Natasha Romanov was sent to infiltrate the British magical community by the Red Room when she was a child. A family was selected, processed, and under the name Lily Evans, Natasha was integrated into their make-up.

The Red Room was very thorough. Their little agent would not be traced back to them. Even when she was taken from the Evans family for the first month of the summer holidays every year, re-processed and given a slew of quick and dirty missions.

Besides, who would suspect a Russian agent in an English school?

~oOo~

“Lily Rose Evans, will you marry me?” James asked, a hopeful smile on his face as he knelt before her, holding up the open red-velvet ring box.

“James,” she breathed, her green eyes wide. In their depths swirled love and happiness and fear and worry. “We're in the middle of a war.”

“I know,” James agreed, and with a sigh he stood. “Look, Lily, we've been dating two years. I get that's not very long compared to some, and I get that... well, nothing's certain right now. If you want time to think about it...?” he offered, and again held the ring box out to the woman he loved.

The red-head smiled gratefully, accepted the plush little box, and stretched up on her toes to kiss her boyfriend's cheek.

“I'll sleep on it,” she promised.

~oOo~

The Red Room approved her request. They said it would give her – and them by association – greater access to various magical texts. It made Natasha feel sick to think of it, but they _were_ developing an amulet that would redirect the Killing Curse. She wore a prototype already.

If she ever actually got hit by a Killing Curse though, Natasha would accept it as the death of Lily, and then go on to absolutely  _destroy_ the Red Room. After she'd robbed them, of course. It wouldn't do to leave them with even the smallest scraps to possibly rebuild from, after all.

~oOo~

When she found out she was pregnant, she told James before she told the Red Room. Then she told him about the Red Room – because she had to inform them of her pregnancy as well. Absolutely had to – and she told him because she wanted her husband, who she loved, to be aware and alert in case the Red Room did anything to her because of the pregnancy.

“What sort of 'anything' would they do?” James asked, concerned for his wife and his child as he sat with Lily/Natasha on the couch of their living room, his arms around her middle as she wept into his shoulder.

There was rather a lot of trauma gone over in their conversation, plus she was moving into pregnancy hormones.

“That depends on if its a boy or a girl,” she answered. “The Red Room only takes girls. They'd allow a girl to be brought to term with the idea that I'd begin training her like they trained me. If it's a boy...”

James recognised the uneasy silence for what it was: the fear of an unspeakable fate potentially befalling their precious child.

“Then we'll make sure our baby is a girl, and we'll _also_ find a way to make sure she'll be safe from the Red Room if anything happens to us,” James promised. “We've got about nine months to figure it out, after all.”

~oOo~

The most commonly used ritual, insofar as ensuring the sex of a child in a Pure Blood family, was to make sure that a son was born. An heir to carry on the family name. Far less frequently used was the ritual to ensure a daughter. It was still used with some regularity – the very snobby sorts who pre-arranged matches between their children as soon as they found out about the impending births were the chief users. Though occasionally a witch in an arranged match that she didn't care for would perform the ritual to frustrate her husband. Or if she simply wanted a daughter to dote on. Reasons varied.

James' ancestors hadn't ever really minded much, one way or the other, as to whether sons or daughters were born. It was how the name had changed from Peverell to Gryffindor back in the thirteenth century, and from Gryffindor to Potter in the fifteenth. Interestingly enough, the name Potter had also changed, to Kettlewell, of all things, back in the eighteenth century. James' grandmother had married a muggleborn called Potter, completely unrelated to their family, but it had brought the name back around and made them Potters again.

The ritual to ensure that their baby was a girl was performed in a hired-out ritual room in the goblin bank. It came at great expense, because the chief reason that the goblins even had ritual rooms in their bank was to remove curses from treasure. The nasty little creatures were loath to not be using their ritual chambers for their own uses, but James had sat down with the account manager for the Potter vaults and made a deal.

It involved manipulating a few laws, but the law was there to serve the people smart enough to take advantage of it, and as much as James hated politics, his father had raised him to understand that eventually he  _would_ have to take his place on the Wizengamot, and therefore he'd bloody well better understand all of the laws front to back and back to front and in three Gaelic dialects (the Irish, Scottish, and Welsh variants), as well as French, Spanish, and Gobbledegook besides.

Every witch or wizard that James caught, defeated, or killed (Crouch had gotten lethal force approved the month before), he would get fifty percent of their wealth 'by right of conquest'. The goblins would get ten, the Ministry would get two, and the rest would remain for whoever of that witch or wizard's family stood to inherit. The goblins liked getting ten percent of a wizard's gold for no effort on their part. They liked that very much.

~oOo~

At eleven-fifty-seven, scant minutes away from midnight, on the thirty-first of July, James and Lily Potter welcomed their daughter into the world. The world wasn't so welcoming as them, but that was... correctable.

“No flower names, James,” the new mother warned her husband firmly (for the fifth time) as she brought her daughter to her chest for her very first feeding.

“How do you like Marie then?” he suggested.

The red-head nodded slowly.

“Marie Natasha Potter,” James whispered in his wife's ear, and ran a finger tenderly over his daughter's cheek. “She's perfect.”

Lily bit her lip to fight back the tears. They were tears of happiness, but she didn't want to break down right now.

~oOo~

The Red Room had sent Natasha the newest version of their anti-AK amulet, but they had sent only one. For her. Without even blinking, the new mother slipped the protective amulet over her daughter's head. The original version remained hanging from her own neck. In all the time she had been under cover in the magical world, it had taken them seven years to develop a way to stop the fatal curse. It had taken another three before they had made a version that didn't drain the wearer of their magic to such a state that they were rendered unconscious for at least an hour after.

She wished that she could give one of these protective amulets to her husband, but James insisted that their daughter would need her mother more than her father, if it ever came down to it.

Both hoped that it never would.

~oOo~

A flash of green was the last thing that James Charlus Potter saw. Loki opened his eyes to find himself in the antechamber of the Gatekeeper Heimdall.

“Well,” he said, careful to affect his old mannerisms again. It was always a struggle to be himself again when he shucked his enforced mortal form and returned to Asgard. “That was about as fun as usual.”

“You're back sooner than expected,” Heimdall replied.

“I hadn't exactly planned on being murdered in my own home at the ripe old age of _twenty-four_ either,” Loki nearly snarled back. James Potter had made preparations for just in case, but no, he hadn't planned on it. Loki would be exacting a subtle revenge upon Peter Pettigrew for the treachery. Just as soon as he was back in his private chambers and had access to all of his old magical, and mischief-making, tools.

That is, after he'd made sure Natasha/Lily had survived and their precious daughter was safe and healthy. Of all his children, Marie was already the dearest to him. Fenris, Jormungandr and Hel were grown and had little need of him any more. He loved them, they loved him, they visited when they could, but his eldest three had well and truly left the nest. The initial parting had been forced upon them because Odin disapproved of Loki's 'monstrous' children. Sleipnir, well... Loki had not particularly enjoyed being raped by a horse, nor carrying a foal. Especially one with eight legs. That did not mean he did not love his son, but it hurt to see his ever-so-very-smart child being used as a common steed by Odin, as if Sleipnir were not a child that Loki had borne. Sleipnir understood, and Loki always spared him a kiss on the nose when he went to the stables – and an apple or carrot as well. As for Vali and Narfi... Loki could only mourn his twin boys.

But Marie was a baby, his second daughter after so many sons, and she had been perfect.

~oOo~

When Natasha woke from the minor coma that was caused by the amulet that had saved her from the killing curse, Marie was gone. That alone would have been enough to see her swearing in all fifteen of the languages she knew, but as she hauled herself up, she caught a glimpse of her handler from the Red Room approaching from the other end of the street.

It looked like she wasn't going to be allowed to mourn her husband, or look for her child.

For that, she hissed and snarled like a wounded cat and invented a few new curses. Not the magical kind. Well, not yet, anyway. She'd probably get to that before the week was out.

~oOo~

Upon finding Marie in his scrying glass, Loki forced down his rage and called up his magic. He was not, under any circumstances, going to permit Petunia Dursley of all people to raise his baby girl. As it was, he'd be sending a curse after Dumbledore for leaving her on the doorstep with just a blanket and a note. Not even a warming charm, when it was the darkest part of the night and early in November!

Loki growled to himself and wrapped Marie up in his magic. It was not an easy thing, to send magic across the realms, but she was his, and that made it a bit easier.

He did a quick check of his friends. Sirius was hunting down Peter. That was fine. Loki knew that Sirius was more the doting-uncle type than the responsible-parent type. He'd check in on Sirius in a few days, see if the hunt was successful. Remus was thrashing about in the cage he'd built for himself for full-moon nights. Loki sent a stream of magic to him at once, easing the pain of the transformation. Fenris was his son, the first Wolf, from whom all other werewolves were spawned, and as Loki was his father, that gave him a good amount of (though not ultimate) authority over Fenris' magical progeny.

The Longbottoms were still in hiding, Minnie was quietly drinking with Filius and Pomona... Most of the UK was celebrating though. Singing praises of 'The Girl Who Lived', but as Loki watched, he could see that nothing would truly change. As such, he quickly made the decision to remove Marie from the country entirely.

He'd loved it there, truly he had. It was home, and family, and friends, but Marie wouldn't get that if she stayed there. She was already stupidly famous for no proper reason – after all, it had been the advances of the Red Room, wicked place that it was, that had  _really_ stopped Voldemort.

Loki sought out a place that was as unlike to England as it could be, while still speaking English – his baby girl did still have her name down for Hogwarts, after all. He chose Mississippi, and used his magic to slip her into an adoption agency.

With Odin's laws as they stood right now, it was the best he could do for his youngest child.

Satisfied, at least for now, Loki turned his scrying glass to seek out his wife. He knew she would have survived, but he also knew that when he found her, he would not wish to look away for some time. He knew that he would wish to reach out to her and touch her. So he had saved her for last, and prepared the spell that would let him dream-walk to her.

~oOo~

“Lily,” he called.

She was in their living room, staring at the fire and just warming her hands over the dancing flames. It wasn't destroyed by spell-fire as it had been when she had forced herself to walk away from the life – cover – that she had loved. Natasha turned.

“James,” she breathed when she saw him. Standing there, whole and healthy and _alive_ , which he had not been when she had last seen him, his body barring the way to the nursery she'd fled to, intent on grabbing up their daughter and running out the back way.

He smiled at her.

“I'm dreaming,” she said next.

His smile faded.

“Yes,” he confirmed. “Yes, you're dreaming. I'm so sorry Natasha, for leaving you.”

“Would it do me any good to ask if you know what became of Marie?” she asked.

“She's safe,” James answered. “No thanks to Dumbledore, but I corrected that.”

Natasha frowned, her expression one of contemplative puzzlement. That look on her face made James smile again. They had been apart from each other only so short of a time, but already he had missed just watching her think.

“You fixed...?” she asked.

“Yes,” James confirmed. “Lily love, Natasha, it turns out you're not the only one with a secret. I just... didn't know mine.”

A request for an explanation was a breath away from crossing Natasha's lips when James' appearance melted away, changing slightly. The hair was still black, the skin was still pale, the bearing was still of someone raised knowing they were born to carry the weight of nobility. The bone structure was finer though, and the glasses vanished. Green eyes met green where they'd always met brown before.

“Odin likes to send me to Earth every century or so,” he explained. “Reborn as a mortal without memory of my true self, to which I am restored upon my death.”

Natasha's jaw dropped, just a little, as she stared into a set of eyes that were just as green as her own, as their Marie's.

“I am Loki,” he said, “of Norse Legend.” He reached out to take one of her hands in his. He brought that hand up to his lips, whereupon he kissed it. “And I love you, Natasha Lily Romanov Potter.”

“You're not dead?” Natasha asked, her voice small and eyes glassy.

“No,” Loki confirmed.

Natash threw herself at him then, and kissed him with desperate passion. Her husband was dead, but suddenly he wasn't, and she wasn't going to let him go in a hurry.

“Is Marie with you then?” she asked when they finally parted. For some reason, even dreaming, the need to breath had intruded.

“By order of Odin, mortals are not permitted in Asgard,” Loki answered with an apologetic shake of his head. “Similarly, I am not permitted to return to Midgard. The only Aesir who may walk Earth's crust are those sentenced there by Odin, and whenever he does that to me, he strips me of my memories and sets me in an infant's body. There's only one bridge that lets us physically cross, and it is guarded constantly. If I tried to leave Asgard to return to you, I would be caught.”

Natasha swore, colourfully and in three languages, as she pressed herself to his chest, arms like iron bands around his torso.

“But I am the god of mischief, and I have my loopholes,” Loki comforted as he held her just as tightly to him.

“Like this,” Natasha realised.

“Like this,” Loki confirmed with a nod. “I'll watch over our daughter with my scrying, as you and I both know the Red Room is going to keep you very busy -”

“I never had any talent or inclination towards divination anyway,” Natasha reminded softly as she just enjoyed the feel of his chest under her cheek, the sound of his heart beating by her ear. “I didn't think you did either.”

“It helps that I've had centuries to study every branch of magic,” Loki offered with a chuckle. “I delve into a new one every time I get bored, then proceed to make sure I've mastered it by pulling pranks all over the place.”

“That sounds more like the you that I know,” Natasha agreed with a smile, and pulled back just enough to look up at him. “You'll let me know how she's doing?”

“I'll do you one better,” Loki teased with a smile as he rubbed her nose with his. He removed one arm from around Natasha's waist and held it out, pointed towards the extra-soft rug that Marie liked rolling around on so much.

Natasha watched in fascinated confusion, and then a familiar little bundle appeared there.

“Marie!” Natasha exclaimed, and lunged down onto her knees to pick up her baby.

“Mama!” the fifteen-month-old exclaimed joyfully, and happily patted her mother's face.

“We will be able to share our dreams,” Loki promised as he knelt down beside his mortal wife. One arm went around her shoulders, the free hand instantly raised to tickle his perfect baby girl. “See and hold one another every night. Dream-walking isn't exactly easy though, so you and Marie are both going to have to rely on me to do the working that will allow us this. At least for the first few years.”

“You'll teach me how?” Natasha asked.

Loki nodded, though he didn't take his eyes off Marie. Neither of them did.

“It may be side-stepping a few of Odin's laws, but yes,” he agreed. “I'll teach you how to reach into other people's dreams, how to manipulate your dream world and draw other people to you. Now that I think of it, having studied Occlumency and Legilimency are good spring-boards for this.”

“I only just started to do that when we joined the Order,” Natasha protested softly.

Loki's smile was indulgent, and directed entirely to his wife, rather than his daughter.

“And you're a sponge for knowledge, Lily my love,” he quipped, and pressed a quick, fond kiss to her cheek.

“Marie is safe?” Natasha asked again. “Away from here, in the waking world, she's safe?”

“She's in America, being adopted by a loving couple right this very moment,” Loki answered. “It was better than leaving her in England. Dumbledore left her on Petunia's doorstep with a note.”

“Why?” Natasha demanded. “What about everybody else? There were dozens of better options!”

“Everybody else is either mourning our deaths or celebrating Voldemort's defeat,” Loki answered, then quickly corrected himself. “Well, Remus is enduring the full moon and Sirius is hunting down Peter for betraying us, but everybody else, that's pretty much it. By the way, since you're _not_ quite as dead as popular belief would hold, and our marriage remains legally binding, you're still Lady Potter.”

Natasha blinked.

“I guess I'll have to keep up correspondence with the goblins at least then,” she said.

“I certainly can't,” Loki agreed with a nod, “and somebody needs to make sure that politicians with sticky fingers stay away from the Potter fortunes.”

Just then, Marie yawned.

“Oh, she's waking up,” Loki registered. “She'll fade away soon. I can dream-walk when I'm awake, but most can only do it in their sleep, and getting the yawns in this world is the first sign that your body is waking.”

Natasha squeezed Marie a little more tightly to herself, kissed her brow and handed their baby to her husband, so that he could do the same before she vanished.

“Daddy loves you,” Loki told their little miracle. “So much,” he added, and kissed Marie's brow.

Then, with another yawn, she became translucent, transparent, until she finally disappeared all together.

For a moment, the parents remained silent as they sat together on the floor.

“So,” Natasha said at last, and a perfectly manicured hand slid up Loki's thigh. “I've missed you.”

Loki laughed, then swept his wife up in his arms and kissed her soundly as he carried her through their house to their bedroom. He could have just manipulated the dream so that they were already there, but where would be the fun in that?

~oOo~

Robert and Allison D'Ancanto were concerned, just a little bit, about their daughter. She'd come back from kindergarten with a beautifully drawn picture (for a five-year-old). A picture that had  _My Family_ written across the top in the teacher's clear, printed hand. Judging by the way the tails of the Ys were slightly covered by the drawing, that title had been written there before the drawing had been done. So their little Marie would have known what was being asked of her.

A drawing of their family shouldn't have been reason for concern, but their family was all of three-strong: Robert, Allison, and little Marie. Marie had drawn a good deal more than just three people on her piece of paper though – and she'd labelled each figure carefully in wonky, messy, but still legible letters.

In the middle of the picture was a couple, and beneath them were the labels 'Mother' and 'Father', titles which Marie had never given to either of them. Then again, neither of the figures above those labels looked anything like the D'Ancanto's. Both Robert and Allison had dark brown hair. Robert's cut close and complimented by a thick moustache, Allison's worn long – and the two figures in the picture that were labelled 'Daddy' and 'Momma' certainly looked like them.

The woman designated 'Mother' was a red-head, and the 'Father' had black hair. Both had bright green eyes. Eyes the same green as Marie had used for her own eyes in the picture.

Robert and Allison both wondered where/when/how/if Marie had found out she was adopted, and where she had gotten the idea of that her real parents may have looked like. But that wasn't what  _worried_ them. At least, that wasn't what worried them the most.

There was a large canine, possibly a wolf, labelled Fen. An even bigger snake called Jor. 'Nir was an eight-legged horse – and yes, it was possible to tell that it was actually a horse with eight legs. It was a truly excellent drawing for a five-year-old. Hel was a female figure that was only half coloured-in. And there were two grave stones for Vali and Narfi.

So, they were worried.

~oOo~

“Is she very social?” the child psychologist asked.

“Not particularly,” Robert replied with a sad shake of his head. “More interested in books of every sort.”

“And we do mean every sort,” Allison added with a slightly frustrated sigh. “Not so interested in people though. Not children her age, not older kids, not adults.”

“Would it be fair to say that she is very self-contained?” the child psychologist persisted.

Robert and Allison both nodded.

“And intelligent?” he continued.

They nodded again.

“And imaginative?” he pressed.

Again, they nodded.

“Then it is possible she has decided to create characters based on things she has read, imaginary friends,” he offered. “But has taken it a step further by making imaginary siblings, or perhaps imagining that she is herself part of a family from myth. This picture.”

The man picked up the  _My Family_ drawing that had so concerned the D'Ancantos, examined it a moment, then turned it around for them.

“I studied in Norse myth for my arts requirement when I was in college,” he told them, “and I'd make a guess that this is the family of the Trickster Loptr. He had three monstrous children from an affair with a giantess. Fenris, the wolf. Jormungandr, the serpent. Hel, who was half-dead. From his wife Sigyn, he had two sons, Vali and Narfi... and from an unfortunate run in with a stallion while himself shape-shifted into a mare, Loptr bore the eight-legged horse Sleipnir.”

“And you think that Marie might have just... inserted herself into the myth?” Allison guessed.

The child psychologist nodded.

“It's perfectly normal for bright, self-contained children to invent imaginary friends. Indulge her if she asks you to, but otherwise don't give it another thought,” he advised them. “She'll grow out of it, I promise. They all do, eventually.”

The D'Ancantos breathed a sigh of relief, and stopped worrying.

~oOo~

It was time. The letter from Hogwarts would be winging its way to Marie in a little less than a month. Natasha had (with a little help from Loki) burned down the Red Room and destroyed everything affiliated with them (except the girls, who had been saved and fostered into loving homes). Now, she was going to go to Mississippi, find her daughter, and for the first time in almost a decade, she was going to hold her baby girl in her arms  _while she was awake_ .

With anticipation that made her heart pound, she rang the doorbell.

“Coming!” came the call from inside, and a few long seconds later, the door was opened by a woman with plain brown hair that fell to the middle of her back.

“Can I help you?” she asked.

“I hope so,” Natasha replied. “I'm looking for my daughter, Marie -”

“Mother!” Marie cried happily, and barrelled passed Allison to collide with Natasha's middle.

“Marie,” Natasha breathed, and tears sprung up in her eyes as she finally, finally wrapped her arms around her baby. “Oh, my little Marie. I'm here. I'm finally here.”

“I'm sorry, but who are you?” Allison D'Ancanto demanded almost-sharply.

“My name is Lily Potter,” Natasha said, her arms still around her daughter, “and I'm Marie's mother.”

“The adoption -”

“I didn't give my daughter to any adoption agency,” Natasha cut off. “I remember a mad man attacking my husband in our home, and I remember an explosion, and I remember waking up surrounded by rubble with a nasty collection of injuries and my daughter gone from her cot. As far as I know, Ma'am, you adopted a kidnapped child.”

Allison D'Ancanto blanched, and stepped aside, a clear and silent invitation for the woman to enter her home. This was not the sort of conversation people wanted to have on the doorstep.

~oOo~

“I've been in a bad situation for a long time,” Natasha told the other woman. “The mad man who came to our house when Marie was a baby... he wasn't just a random psycho. He had deliberately targeted us because of the work my husband and I did. James was more front-line while I was more research and intelligence, but nevertheless.”

“You're saying you're FBI or something?” Allison asked, a little incredulous.

“No,” Natasha replied evenly. “Well, 'or something', I suppose,” she corrected. “And not American. My husband was born into the nobility, America doesn't really have those.”

“No-” Allison choked. “Nobility?”

Natasha nodded. “Once I'd recovered, I was immediately sent back to work, barely given time to kiss my husband goodbye in the mornings, certainly not to search for my daughter. On top of that, I had to juggle my duties as Lady Potter, since my husband remains incapacitated due to that attack. But I managed to find my baby, and then it was just a case of escaping my very demanding and totally unsympathetic employers.”

“When you say... you managed to find her...” Allison hemmed and hawed, her mind going back to the first _my family_ picture that Marie had brought home. A picture which had a woman with red hair and green eyes – just like this woman.

“Ma'am, what I'm about to tell you may be unbelievable, so with your permission, I'll skip straight to the demonstration,” Natasha said, and removed her wand from where it was hidden up one sleeve. The cheap tea-set was quickly transfigured into Royal Dolton.

Allison D'Ancanto gaped.

“I am a witch, Mrs D'Ancanto,” Natasha stated. “I have and use magic. I have used magic to help me find Marie, and to communicate with her through dreams when I was unable to escape my watchful and paranoid employers.”

“That's how she knew you,” Allison recognised softly. She would have demanded proof of their relationship, because this woman was able to invade Marie's dreams and could have lied about the whole thing for who-knew-what reason... but just looking at them, Allison could tell they were related. Marie looked so much like her mother, not a perfect little replica – the jaw was a little more square, the lips a little thinner, and the hair about five shades blacker – but there was no denying they shared blood.

Natasha nodded.

“So, what now?” Allison asked, and felt fear, worry, creeping in. “I suppose you want your daughter back.”

“Very much,” Natasha agreed, “but... as I've said, my husband is sadly in no situation to physically care for her, and my life has become increasingly dangerous since the attack ten years ago. I'm almost constantly on the move these days, and I know Marie has had a loving, stable home here. I would like Marie to go to the school I and my husband attended in Scotland though.”

“Scotland?!” Allison yelped.

“Marie is as innately magical as I and my husband,” Natasha explained. “The school I'm talking about will teach her how to control that magic, rather than have any potentially dangerous accidents with it. It's also part of her heritage... and already paid for. James paid the full seven years tuition within a month of Marie's birth,” Natasha added with a fond, reminiscing smile.

“I wanna go Momma, please?” Marie begged.

~oOo~

Natasha smiled as Marie held her hand and they walked down Nevozmozhno Ulitsa, the hidden magical district in Moscow. They were after a telescope and Marie's wand. They'd already bought her potions supplies in Peru (cauldron, vials, knives, and a wide selection of useful ingredients. They'd also gotten extra things from a non-magical shop that sold kitchenware, like a mortar and pestle, a mandolin, and other such things), and... most of her books in New York. Two books on the Hogwarts list were considered out-dated and useless by the Americans. _A History of Magic_ by Bathilda Bagshot for one, and _Magical Theory_ by Aldabert Waffling for the other. Natasha made sure that Marie had all the best books for the coming year at Hogwarts, not just the ones on the list provided.

When they were finished in Moscow, the mother and daughter duo would finally venture into Diagon Alley in London for the last few required books and Marie's school uniform.

“Here,” Natasha said softly to her daughter when they'd reached a particular door.

Marie pushed open the plain black door, just a little tentatively.

“ _Come in,_ ” a voice called in Russian. “ _Don't lurk in the doorway, you'll let the cold in._ ”

James had asked, when Lily had first confessed to actually being Natasha, why a Russian had been sent to the UK to learn about magic. She'd answered that, actually, the Red Room had sent as many girls as they could – as many girls as they had that had magic – to all the different magical communities across the globe. Those girls were her many 'pen-pals' when she'd been attending Hogwarts.

Those contacts were how Natasha now knew that the best wandmaker to go to, anywhere across the globe, was this one.

“ _Magistr Kostya_ ,” Natasha greeted in her native tongue as she nudged Marie into the little shop properly. “ _My little girl needs a wand. I have friends that say you are the best._ ”

Magistr Kostya barked a pleased laugh. “ _Flattery doesn't get you a discount,_ ” he declared firmly.

“ _We don't need one. I just want the best for my baby,_ ” Natasha asserted.

“ _Mother! I'm not a baby anymore,_ ” Marie protested at the name. She'd been raised listening to her mother switch between every language she knew, and her father answering her in whatever language the beautiful red-head had picked.

“ _Indulge your mother,_ ” Natasha teased as she bent to kiss the top of Marie's head, then turned her attention back to the wandmaker. “ _You will make a wand for my Marie?_ ”

Magistr Kostya nodded slowly.

After an hour of testing various materials, and of actually crafting the wand, the pair left the shop an equivalent of a hundred dollars lighter, and with Marie the proud owner of a brand new wand crafted from willow and ebony, flexible but unbreakable, with a strand of unicorn tail-hair wrapped around a primary flight feather from a griffin as the core and beautiful, intricate carvings up and down its length.

Carvings that had been filled in with blood drawn from Marie before the whole wand had been varnished. They served double-duty as they not only added beauty, but also security. The blood-filled carvings meant that the wand could only be used by Marie. Anybody could handle it, if they didn't mind getting a nasty burn, but it would only  _work_ for Marie.


	2. Chapter 2

Marie was sorted into Hufflepuff, and proceeded to make fast friends with Susan Bones and Hannah Abbot, with whom she shared her dorm room. First year at Hogwarts passed in a dream of classes, homework, and making friends. Well, not quite a dream. There was an incident with a troll on Halloween. Marie had gone to drag one of her friends out of the toilet after an idiot  _boy_ had been putting her down at the top of his lungs. They'd only just avoided the notice of a troll that had been slowly shuffling in their direction, dragging a half-grown tree behind it for a club.

Also, Marie was perfectly capable of distinguishing the waking world from the dream world where she got to spend time with her family every night – and learn more about magic from her father than any of the Hogwarts teachers would ever be able to teach her.

Marie went back to Mississippi for Christmas, spent time with her adoptive parents, and sent and received gifts in the mail. Among them was a cloak that, upon reporting it to her parents in the dream world that night, Loki confirmed had been his when he lived as James Potter. It was a family heirloom. However, he had  _never_ 'entrusted' it to anybody, as the accompanying note had implied.

It had been stolen. Loki proceeded to walk Marie through the process of checking the cloak for any spells that shouldn't be on it – things like tracking charms, for example.

Beyond that, it was a quiet year for Marie. Some Gryffindors made a lot of fuss about this or that, but that was nothing to do with her.

Over summer, at the insistence of both sets of parents, Marie caught up with her normal, non-magical education. After all, she was quite smart enough to do it.

~oOo~

Natasha took one look at the book list that Marie had been sent for second year, and promptly set it on fire.

“The second in the Standard series I'll get you, but I'll be sending a note for you to give to Pomona in regards to the Defence class,” she said in answer to Marie's surprised expression. “Lockhart was, is, and likely always will be an idiot. His books are self-aggrandising rubbish. Your father and I will teach you Defence this year, and you will avoid whatever twit thinks Lockhart's books are worth reading as though they carried the plague.”

“Yes Mother,” Marie agreed quickly.

When Natasha and Loki found out that Lockhart  _himself_ was teaching the course... well, it was just as well that they were in the dream world. It allowed for them to break things over and over again until their fury was sated, and then for everything to be perfectly clean and tidy as if their joint fits of apoplectic rage had never happened.

Sirius and Remus, when Loki pulled them from their own dreams to join them (as he had for the past four years), were equally disgusted with the fallen standards for teaching.

Not long into that scholastic year, Jormungandr slithered his way into the dream-world that Loki had built for his family to share. It being the dream-world, he was able to shrink himself down into a size and shape more manageable for regular conversation.

“Father,” he called, eyes down and a nervous hitch to his posture. “You recall that one of my few duties is to monitor the magical reptiles of the realms?”

“Everything from dragons to ashwinders and back again, yes,” Loki agreed.

Jor coughed uneasily. “There's, ah, there's a basilisk beneath Hogwarts,” he admitted. “It's been trapped for the past fifty years, and was in a spelled sleep for centuries before that, but...”

Loki groaned. “Let me guess, it's awake and active right now?”

Jor nodded. “Awake, active, and unfortunately insane with hunger.”

“That means Marie is in danger,” Natasha pointed out, her voice cold.

“Would this basilisk be the reason Filch's cat got petrified?” Marie asked her older half-brother.

He nodded again.

Natasha sighed. “Murphy is proved right again,” she grumbled. “What can go wrong, will.”

“So, what do we _do_ about this dangerous snake currently slithering around Hogwarts?” Marie questioned pointedly.

Jormungandr described what he knew of where and how to reach the 'nest' of the basilisk, as well as the best ways to kill it. Safely. The best ways to kill it  _safely_ . The midgard serpent was rather fond of his baby sister (all of them were), and he wanted her to come out alive after an encounter with a crazed basilsk.

Everybody there would rather Marie didn't have to encounter the basilisk at all, but it would be easier for her to sneak out under the invisibility cloak and deal with it herself than it would be to convince one of the teachers just what it was. Especially since she would not be able to explain how she knew. Dream-walking wasn't something that modern magicals  _did_ . Not really. They had occlumency and legilimency, but dream-walking was something else entirely, even if those former two disciplines made learning the latter one easier.

Natasha posted Marie a bag that was spelled bottomless, and with an ever-stretchable opening, so that once the basilisk was dead, it could be sliced, diced and sold to the highest bidder. Money which would go into the Potter coffers for Marie's use.

Apart from the basilisk, and the many horrors that were Gilderoy Lockhart, it was an uneventful but enjoyable year.

~oOo~

After the war, Loki had made sure that Crouch gave Sirius a trial when he'd been wrongly arrested for betraying the Potters to Voldemort. Dream-walking was good for more than just being able to hold his wife and daughter in his arms, after all. Sirius and James had both been hit-wizards during the war, as well as members of the Order, but when James died and Sirius was arrested... well, the old dog hadn't been quite so thrilled about the idea of working for the Ministry.

Once the Death Eaters had been rounded up to something approaching his satisfaction, Sirius had retired to the life of Lord Black. A title he'd never wanted, but due to all the deaths in his family (he and his grandfather, the previous Lord Black, having been the only ones to not only both survive the war, but also not align themselves with the dark git, though for vastly different reasons), it fell to him by default as much as anything else.

He had been heir apparent prior to his being sorted into Gryffindor...

In reaction to the knowledge that Dumbledore had hired Lockhart (theories among the family were that he had either been forced to scrape the bottom of the barrel for teaching candidates, or else was trying to deliberately sabotage the students' educations), Sirius marched into Hogwarts and outright demanded the Defence position. Finally coming out of his 'retirement'.

Besides, it would give him a chance to finally meet his beautiful little goddaughter in person.

For her part, Marie picked Arithmancy and Care of Magical Creatures for her third-year elective courses. Her father was already teaching her everything and more about runes and divination, and she went home to Mississippi every Christmas and summer holidays, where she kept up with her regular education, so she didn't really need 'muggle' studies.

That was also the year that Marie hit puberty. Very exciting in all sorts of ways that don't really bear thinking about once the initial horror has been overcome.

~oOo~

It was Marie's fourth year at Hogwarts when things started to become a little more.... dramatic.

After the 'normal' birthday party with her adoptive parents and various friends and neighbours on the day, Natasha had taken her off for a week-long celebration. The first thing they'd done was get required shopping out of the way with a visit to the magical district in New York City. After that, Natasha had held out a paper with a list of things to do in the Big Apple. Over the week, they walked around Central Park, visited zoos, shopped their way through Times Square, saw and did everything Coney Island had to offer, visited museums and galleries, and went to a different Broadway production every night.

On the last day in New York they did the thing that no tourist should really leave the city without doing: the Statue of Liberty.

They were up in the crown, the observation area, when a young man – somewhere in his early- to mid-twenties – approached them.

“So,” he said as he stopped right next to where the mother-daughter-duo were sitting with their ice creams. “I didn't peg the Black Widow as the baby-sitting type.”

Both of them froze.

“That name has no business being used in this setting,” Natasha said firmly.

The guy held up his hands in a defensive, apologetic gesture.

“And I'm not doing business today,” she added.

“I'm real sorry,” he said, “but I got orders.”

“Which you're not following, or you wouldn't be talking to us like _this_ ,” Natasha pointed out.

The guy shrugged. “Well, my handler might chew me out later, but I'm not too worried,” he said easily.

Orders, handler, the man was wearing kevlar and there was the slight bulge of a weapon under his jacket... Marie's eyes widened as the few clues clicked into place.

“You were sent to kill my mother,” she said softly, and the hand not holding her ice cream tightened around her mother's hand.

“Mother huh? That's interesting. Shield didn't know about that,” the guy mused, then shrugged. “I wasn't actually planning on it kid,” he told Marie with a charmingly crooked smirk.

“You said you had orders,” Marie pointed out.

“Yes,” the guy confirmed. “Yes, I do. But I'm a hot-head with authority issues, so they won't be too surprised if I disobey those orders. I gotta have some sort of result though,” he continued, and pinned Natasha with a look. “Like making sure the Black Widow isn't a solo operative any more, working freelance and without any big-picture awareness.”

“You're going to try and recruit me?” Natasha asked, amused.

“It's that, or I _am_ going to have to shoot you in the head at some point in the near future,” he replied frankly, “and I'm really not interested in potentially leaving a kid to the mercies of the System.”

Natasha and Marie both knew that the System wouldn't be an issue. Marie had two adoptive parents to take care of her as well as Natasha herself. The problems that would arise would come from the magical side of things.

Dumbledore and Fudge specifically.

“So, whaddya say?” the guy asked. “Feel like joining the good guys?”

“How do you know that Shield are the good guys?” Marie demanded with a pout.

“Shield's an acronym. It stands for strategic hazard intervention, espionage and logistics division – and that of the United Nations,” he explained with a smile. “World safety's kind of the collective goal.”

Marie nodded slowly.

“And my other option is being killed by you,” Natasha said plainly.

He grimaced. “Yeah, and I'm not thrilled with that,” he admitted. “Not with all the stuff I've learned since I started tailing you six days ago, so I'd really appreciate it if you'd take option number two.”

For a while, Natasha was silent, apparently wrapped up in thought – but Marie knew that she was actually dream-walking and speaking with Loki. It wasn't easy to do while awake, but Natasha had recently got it down.

“What's your name?” the fourteen-year-old asked the man.

“Clint Barton,” he said. “Codename Hawkeye.”

“Named after the guy in _Last of the Mohicans_ , Hawkeye from M*A*S*H*, or just because you have good eyesight?” Marie probed.

Clint chuckled. “You know that Hawkeye from M*A*S*H* got his name because that was his dad's favourite character in the book, right?” he checked.

Marie nodded.

“A little of column A and a little of column C,” Clint told her with a smile.

“So you can shoot?” Marie pressed.

“I prefer archery to firearms, but yeah,” he confirmed with a nod. “And just like the character, I don't miss.”

“Does Shield know about my daughter?” Natasha asked.

“No ma'am,” Clint answered sharply. “Or if they do, there was no mention of her in the dossier on you that they gave me.”

Natasha nodded, satisfied. “Then, on the condition of their continued ignorance until and unless Marie herself wants it known, I'll fall in,” she negotiated. “I shut down the Red Room to keep them from my baby, I don't want another secret agency pushing to get her in their ranks because of her connection to me.”

“Deal,” Clint agreed at once. “As far as I'm concerned, black ops is no place for kids anyway.”

~oOo~

Marie had been extended invitations left, right, and centre to go with her friends to the Quidditch World Cup. Well, alright, not really, but that was because most of her friends were girls who only followed the sport because there was a sad lack of any other sort of recreational activities available in the magical world. But she had received one invitation to the World Cup from left and right at the same time. From Fred and George Weasely.

The fact that Marie was friends with the twins (who were not only two years older than her, but in a different house to boot) surprised a great many people. The twins themselves included when she had first approached them. Of course, when she explained that she had to uphold the pranking legacy of her father Prongs, her godfather Padfoot, and quasi-uncle Moony (and anybody who had been in Hogwarts for even just a day knew that the twins were _the_ pranksters of the castle), they had bowed and scraped at her feet.

Moony, Padfoot and Prongs were their heroes. Wormtail as well, until she'd explained exactly what the little rat had done after graduating from Hogwarts.

In any event, Marie had been quietly thrilled to be invited by Fred and George to the Quidditch World Cup. Oh, yes, it meant having less time with her Ma and Pa down in Mississippi, and since her mother had just been freshly recruited by Shield, she couldn't come (still, alive and unavailable during the waking hours was infinitely better than dead), but she would get to spend time with Sirius. Something that, the previous school year notwithstanding, she hadn't gotten to do a whole lot. Not even in the dream-world (her half-siblings, father, and mother rather dominated her time there).

Sirius and Marie were meeting the Weaselys at the camp grounds that had been set up around the specially erected quidditch stadium. The only girl of Marie's acquaintance who was attending was Ginny Weasely, who Marie was very careful around, due to a serious case of idol-worship from the girl. All of her other girl-friends had preferred to just listen in on the WWN and get in more study/shopping/tanning/family time (Hermione and Morag, Hannah and Tracey, Daphne and Sally-Anne, and Susan and Luna respectively. Yes, Marie had friends in all four houses, and including muggle-borns, half-bloods and pure-bloods fairly equally), so she would be fairly well swamped by testosterone for this little adventure, but she was used to that.

It came with having three half-brothers, and only one half-sister.

“Marie!” twin calls welcomed happily.

“Gred! Forge!” she answered gleefully, and let herself be swept up between the two of them.

“Oi! You two unhand my god-daughter!” Sirius scolded, though there was a smile on his face. “I remember what it was like being your age, and I'll not have Marie's virtue sullied. Her mother would neuter me if I let that happen on my watch,” he added in theatrical lament.

“Sirius,” Arthur greeted with a grin. “Come on inside.”

“Padfoot,” Marie said quietly once they'd stepped into the Weasely family's tent. “Can I get one of these?” she asked hopefully.

He barked out a laugh. “Sure,” he agreed. “I'll get you your own magical tent for Christmas.”

~oOo~

“Ah, Veela,” Sirius sighed when the Bulgarian mascots came out. “Never was there a finer example of the expression 'fair is foul, and foul is fair'. Marie, grab your boys, will you?” he requested as he grabbed hold of Bill's jacket collar.

A few spots over, Arthur had done the same for Charlie. Marie had just met the two oldest Weasely children that day, and had spent a bit of time grilling them both about their jobs.

“They're not _mine_ ,” Marie objected, even as she looped her arms through Fred and George's, as she was ensconced between them.

Ginny grabbed Ron, and being that she was much smaller than her older brother and he was the only one putting up a valiant struggle against her restraint (Fred and George were only wiggling a bit, while Bill and Charlie were fairly unaffected), she was having the hardest time keeping him from walking out of their seats to the mascots. A very dangerous prospect, as they had seats right at the very top.

Ten minutes into the game, Marie saw exactly what her godfather meant by that, as the (literally) entrancingly beautiful beings turning into veritable harpies upon Ireland's first goal.

And it went on. Ireland's chasers dominated the game, their beaters kept Bulgaria almost constantly on the defensive, and the few times the Bulgarian chasers did manage to get the quaffle? Ireland's keeper never missed a trick. Ireland's seeker, on the other hand... well, he could just about keep up with Krum, but 'just about keep up' wasn't good enough. Ireland had such a massive lead in points when Krum eventually caught the snitch that it didn't matter though.

Ron was the recipient of much ribbing in the after-game celebrations. He'd been the only one wearing Bulgarian Red to the match, and continued to sing the praises of the Bulgarian seeker even as the rest of the people in the tent, firm Irish supporters (for this game, at least), celebrated the victory of the team they had bedecked themselves in the colour of.

“Sounds like the Irish have their pride on,” Fred quipped when a particularly loud _bang_ echoed across the camp ground.

“That's not the Irish,” Arthur corrected having caught the joyful quip as he entered the tent. “We've got to get out of here. Now.”

“Bill, Charlie, can you take passengers when you apparate?” Sirius asked, completely serious. This was a side of him not commonly seen any more. The ex-hitwizard who knew how to respond to threats with minimal losses on his side, and maximum damage to whoever the foe was.

Bill and Charlie nodded.

“Then I want you two to side-along Ron and Ginny back to the Burrow,” Sirius instructed firmly and quickly. “Then come back for Fred and George, and if you really feel the need, then come back a third time and help out with keeping things under control here.”

“What about Marie?” Ron demanded.

“Marie will be just fine,” Sirius asserted with a resigned roll of his eyes.

“Wossat mean?” Ron grumbled.

“It means, you great gallumping git -” Marie had never forgiven Ron for his treatment of Hermione back in first year, not completely.

“Not now Marie,” Sirius cut her off firmly. “Get,” he ordered.

They all promptly got.

The wizarding paper the next morning was singing the praises of the Girl Who Lived and Lord Black for defending the populace from dark wizards bent on spreading terror – and for picking up where the Ministry had dropped the ball.

Marie had barely hung about long enough to see it. She was going back to Mississippi for a last few days of summer holiday with her adoptive parents before she had to go to Hogwarts.

~oOo~

“Oh,” Marie breathed softly as she took in the sight of the Durmstrang boys. Their school uniform was made of heavier fabric than the Hogwarts uniform, and the cut was... less 'academic robe' and more 'military uniform'. As opposed to the girls from Beauxbaton, who were all in summer-weight, fitted blue dresses that ended at the knee – and all of _them_ shivering.

“Verdict?” Hannah Abbot asked from her place next to Marie, a smile on her face.

“I like a man with a straight back and in a marching uniform,” Marie admitted freely and with a playful smirk. “Does great things for their figures.”

Susan and Hannah both giggled, but agreed completely.

“Oi! What's wrong with a proper English bloke?” Ernie demanded from across the table.

“When I find a _proper_ English gentleman, I'm sure I won't have any complaints,” Marie answered as she rolled her eyes at her obnoxious housemate. “Or at least, not half so many as I have about you.”

“Wipe the drool off your chin Ernie, and stop oggling the bums of the French birds,” Justin scolded with a smirk.

~oOo~

“Well that sells it,” Marie declared with an unhappy huff. “I'm not cheering for any of 'em.”

“What?!” Susan near shrieked. “But Cedric's a 'Puff!”

“And he's got a fan-club,” Marie countered. “Krum's an international quidditch star – he's got a cheer squad. Miss Delacour, I know little to nothing about, but she's been here a week and already has half the male population panting after her. No, I'm not cheering for anybody. In fact, I think I'll take the opportunity presented by this Tournament to get in some extra study. No quidditch matches to watch, so why should I drag myself away from my grades?”

“Marie Potter,” Dumbledore announced.

“Beg pardon, Headmaster?” she asked, standing. “I wasn't listening. I'm sorry.”

“Miss Potter, your name just came out of the Goblet of Fire,” Dumbledore stated seriously. “You have been selected to compete.”

“Then your ancient artefact is broken,” Marie said firmly. “I haven't been any closer than _this_ ,” and here she indicated where she was sat a little more than half-way up the Hufflepuff table, a goodly distance from the Goblet, “to the thing since it was unveiled, nor have I any desire to compete. Mother would kill me.”

It was a widely held belief that Lily Potter was dead. It was a known fact to a select few that she wasn't. Not that either Natasha or Marie had deliberately tried to keep it secret, they just didn't go about yelling it in people's faces.

“Regardless, your name has come out of the Goblet of Fire, so if you would please join the other Champions?” Dumbledore directed with a gesture towards the door that the three seventeen-year-olds had already disappeared through.

Marie heaved a groaning sigh, but did as she was told, straight-backed and head held high. She didn't want to be in this position, but she was, and she wasn't going to let herself be disgraced – her father would have her head if she let that happen.

“Do zey want us now?” the French girl asked.

“ _The Goblet of Fire is apparently broken,_ ” Marie answered the girl in French. “ _It just spat out a fourth name for a three-person competition._ ”

Fleur gasped, and her eyes were wide with fearful comprehension as she looked at Marie – who was busy repeating herself in Bulgarian for Viktor's sake, and then English for Cedric. It was about that point that the three school heads, two ministry officials, and two utterly unnecessary teachers swamped in.

Fleur immediately started babbling in French to her headmistress, while the various pompous authority figures debated on what they could/should/would do about Marie having been entered into the Tri-Wizard Tournament.

In the end, Marie was going to be competing, and that was that. When she told her family in the dream-world that night, none of them were pleased. Her various friends were alternately very excited for her and very worried about her. After all, the was a competition meant for people with a minimum three-year advantage on her. When no one was looking though, Marie smiled to herself – and Sirius or Snape would have recognised that smile as extremely reminiscent of the ones that had been worn when one or other of her parents was about to be terrifyingly brilliant.

Then again, the twins had passed on to her that their brother Charlie was going to be in the area for work, at around about the same time as the first 'task' of the TWT was to take place, and Marie knew very well just what Charlie did for work.

~oOo~

Colin Creevy, a fanboy with a camera fetish from the year below Marie in Gryffindor knocked on the door of the potions classroom and stuck his head in.

“What is it?” Snape demanded.

“Sorry to interrupt Professor Snape,” Creevy said nervously, “I'm supposed to fetch Marie Potter upstairs.”

“Miss Potter has another hour of Potions to complete,” Snape countered shortly. He'd been a lot better about how he treated his students in general (and Marie in particular) since she'd presented him with a letter from her mother back in her first year. He was still strict as all get-out of course, but when teaching a class as explosive/poisonous as potions had the potential to be, that was really quite reasonable. “She will come upstairs when this class is finished,” he added.

Marie, for her part, halted her unpacking of her potions things. She'd rather be in class than go to whatever Creevy had been sent to fetch her for. Especially since she had a good idea that she was being fetched for some TWT nonsense.

“Si-Sir, Mr Bagman wants her,” Creevy stuttered timidly. “All the Champions have got to go. I think they want to take photographs.”

Marie's put-upon groan was audible through the whole classroom, as was the _thunk_ of her head against the table before her. On either side of her, Susan and Hannah giggled. The whole class had been listening in on the stilted little conversation between Snape and the third-year, so they'd all heard _her_ reaction to it as well.

“Very well,” Snape grumbled. “Miss Potter, leave your things. You'll come back down here when you're done with whatever nonsense this is, and we'll test your antidote.”

“Please Sir,” Colin interrupted. “She's got to take her things with her. All the Champions -”

“Very _well_ ,” Snape snapped. “Miss Potter, take your bag and go.”

Marie sighed again, but obediently packed up her things. “Let me know how it goes,” she requested of her friends.

Susan and Hannah both nodded, and Marie left the Potions class, the irritating Creevy at her side – he began babbling excitedly about her being a Champion the moment the dungeon door had closed behind them.

~oOo~

“Ah, there she is!” Bagman declared loudly the moment Marie had stepped into the room Creevy had led her to. “Our fourth Champion. In you come, Marie, in you come. The other judges will be in soon, then we'll get on with the wand weighing ceremony.”

“Sir, I have not given you permission to be so familiar with me,” Marie censured with an arched brow before she swept further into the room and – seeing that one corner held people who were clearly members of the press, Miss Delacour was busy flirting with Diggory in another, while Krum was on his own in another corner of the room – approached the quidditch star and struck up a conversation with him in his native language. An action which effectively dismissed the Ministry representative.

“ _Wand weighing?_ ” she asked him.

“ _Checking to see our wands work,_ ” Krum answered. “ _It is all posturing. We would have known well before today if they did not._ ”

“ _Politics and stuffed shirts and getting publicity,_ ” Marie grumbled. “ _I really don't want to be here_.”

Krum's lips twitched like he was suppressing a smile.

“I wonder if I could have a word with Miss Potter,” a female voice spoke up. “The youngest Champion, you know, to add a bit of colour to my article.”

“I'll give you two,” Marie answered the woman who had approached them. “No,” she held up one finger, counting off the words. “Comment,” she finished, holding up the second.

The attempt the woman gave to pouting did nothing to soften Marie's disposition to her. It also did nothing for her face.

“ _You have a way with the press,_ ” Krum acknowledged with a slight smirk.

“ _I was raised in America,_ ” Marie countered with a smile and an incline of her head, like an entertainer giving a bow after a performance. “ _If you don't know how to work the press, then you get worked by the press, and that's never fun._ ”

“May I introduce Mr Ollivander?” Dumbledore called over them all, drawing people's attention to the fact that four of the five judges chairs had been filled. He, the owner of the fifth, was standing next to a man that Marie suspected nearly every witch and wizard who had ever attended Hogwarts in the last century had met back when they were eleven. As she had bought her wand in a different country altogether, she'd never seen him before though. “He will be checking your wands, to ensure that they are in good condition before the Tournament,” he said as he took his seat with the other judges.

“Mademoiselle Delacour,” Ollivander requested as he stepped up. “Could we have you first, please?”

The French beauty swept over and handed over her wand for his examination.

“Hm,” the old man mused as he twirled the wand about a bit, then brought it up close to his large, silvery eyes to closer examine it. “Nine-and-a-half inches, inflexible, rosewood, and containing... dear me.”

“A 'air from ze 'ead of a veela,” supplied Fleur. “One of my grandmozzer's.”

Marie raised her eyebrows briefly at that, as she let the knowledge settle in. So, the French girl was at least part veela. Marie mentally compared her to the Bulgarian mascots from the World Cup, and wondered if there was much difference between Bulgarian veela and French veela, as (lovely though Fleur was) she didn't seem to Marie to quite measure up. Or maybe that was just because the French girl was just that; still a girl, and not yet a woman, for all that she was rapidly getting there.

“Yes, yes,” Mr Ollivander mused. “I've never used veela hair myself, of course. I find it makes for a rather temperamental wand. However, to each his own, and if this suits you...” with that he gave the wand a quick textile examination – searching for lumps, bumps or scratches that shouldn't be there – then muttered a spell that produced a lovely bouquet of flowers, and proclaimed the wand to be in fine working order.

Diggory was asked for next, and Ollivander had many compliments for the wand that had come from his shop. Tail-hair from a 'particularly fine' male unicorn, one which (judging by the little reminiscence of Ollivander) had not been willingly given. Ashwood, springy, and well-cared-for (Diggory boasted that he'd just polished it the night before). Ollivander was quickly satisfied after producing a lot of smoke-rings, and summoned up Krum next.

Krum was rather the exception to the straight-backed Durmstrang standard for their students. He slouched, his shoulders were hunched and rounded, and he walked duck-footed. Marie supposed that, like a duck, he was simply more comfortable doing just about anything other than walking on the ground. He'd certainly been very graceful on the broomstick.

He scowled as he shoved his hands into his pockets once he'd handed over his wand.

“This is a Gregorovitch creation, unless I'm much mistaken,” Ollivander said with an interested hum as he looked the wand over. “A fine wandmaker, though the style is never quite what I – however,” he cut himself off and raised the wand to his eyes. “Hornbeam and dragon heartstring?”

Krum nodded.

Ollivander made a few other nothing comments, conjured a small flock of birds not long after, approved the wand, and handed it back to its owner.

“Which just leaves... Miss Potter,” Ollivander said, and his big silver eyes fixed on Marie.

She stood, approached the old man, and held out her wand – but she didn't release it to him.

“My dear girl -” Dumbledore began.

“I'm not your anything, Headmaster,” Marie cut him off with cool civility. “My wand was made by a Russian.”

“Not... Magistr Kostya, by any chance?” Ollivander asked carefully.

“The same,” Marie agreed with a regal nod.

“Ah,” Ollivander said archly. “Yes, in that case, you're very kind to not hand it to me.”

“Mr Ollivander?” Dumbledore enquired.

“Magistr Kostya has a tendency, when making wands, to make them so that they will burn anybody not their rightful owner,” Ollivander explained as he kept a weary eye on the wand in Marie's outstretched hand. “Let me see now though... willow and ebony, with a combined core?”

“A strand of unicorn tail-hair wrapped around a primary flight feather from a griffin,” Marie confirmed.

Ollivander nodded. “Then, if you would please?” he requested.

“Anything in particular?” she countered.

“Perhaps you would like some flowers, like Mademoiselle Delacours?” Ollivander suggested, with a gesture to the bouquet of blue irises Fleur was holding.

“I'm more a magnolia girl,” Marie countered, her Mississippi drawl just a little more pronounced as she said that, and conjured for herself a bouquet of a dozen of the large white flowers that were the floral emblem of the state of Mississippi.

Ollivander nodded. “I'm satisfied,” he declared firmly.

Dumbledore stood and dismissed them – to classes or dinner, as it was about time for the latter, but they were welcome to rejoin their classes if they wished – but the man with the camera jumped up then and cleared his throat pointedly.

“Photos, Dumbledore, photos!” Ludo declared with a grin. “A group shot of the judges and the Champions, Rita?”

“Yes,” the woman agreed slowly. “That first, and then perhaps individual shots of the Champions?”

Marie slipped out the door while they were trying to figure out where who went (Madame Maxime cast people in shadow wherever she stood, and so had to sit instead, the photographer wanted Fleur to the fore, Krum wanted to skulk at the back, and so on). She had a stern letter to write to the Prophet (the Potters were major shareholders in the newspaper) in regards to having sent, of all people, _Rita Skeeter_ into a school.


	3. Chapter 3

Delacour was pale, Krum had great big bags under his eyes, and Diggory was pacing the length of the tent back and forth. Marie was the last to arrive. It was the day of the First Task. She cast a considering look over her competitors, and quietly summoned one of the Hogwarts elves that she'd gotten to be good friends with over her four years as a student, and requested a block of high-quality dark chocolate, a pot of coffee, and a jug of milk.

When the elf returned with her little tray of the items Marie had requested, she passed them out – the chocolate to put a little colour back in Delacour's cheeks, coffee to help wake up Krum, and milk to calm down Diggory. For herself, she took a little of all three and made herself a nice mocha.

“Oh relax,” she advised them all. “It's only dragons, and if I'm any judge, you three had all known about it and been preparing since the day the handlers dragged them here, that's plenty of time to figure out roughly what you're going to do, isn't it?”

“How are you not nervous!?” Diggory demanded.

Marie shrugged. “They're just dragons,” she repeated easily.

“Just dragons, she says,” Diggory grumbled, then gulped down the milk he'd been offered.

Ludo Bagman bounced his way into the tent then, as though he either didn't know or didn't care that he could potentially be sending four of the best and brightest to a very crispy death.

“ _Youth before beauty_?” Marie teased Delacour in French when Ludo offered 'ladies first' to pick out of the bag he'd carried in.

Fleur laughed very weakly and waved her on.

Marie pulled out a miniature of a Hungarian Horntail that had a tag with the number four hanging from it's long, snake-like neck.

“That's right, it's dragons!” Bagman declared happily. “You've got to get passed them to snatch a golden egg we've set in their nests.”

What little colour Fleur had recovered drained from her face once more before she reached into the bag and drew out her own miniature.

Marie wasn't paying attention any more. After Bagman had explained exactly what their task was, she'd settled herself down in a chair and was playing with her miniature dragon. It snapped at her at first, but she soon had it crooning and cooing and running up and down her arms like a playful kitten. Having Jormungandr for a brother (even half-brother) was really a wonderfully useful connection to have sometimes.

~oOo~

“ _Roar, lord, dame. Roar, lord, dame. Be true to your clutch, to your mate, to your flame. Roar, lord, dame_ ,” Marie sing-songed softly in Parseltongue as she descended into the arena where the dragon was waiting for her, hunched over her clutch.

The massive dragon's head reared back, and large yellow eyes blinked in surprise.

“ _What did you say?_ ” the dragon questioned incredulously – not quite in the same language, but close enough that they could communicate. None of the wizards would recognise it though.

“ _Just a little nothing that big brother Jormungandr taught me,_ ” Marie answered innocently.

The dragon lowered her head once more, right in front of Marie, and rather than blasting her with flame as all of the audience expected to happen, the dragon breathed deeply in. It scented her.

“ _What business do you have so near my clutch? My eggs have already been disturbed from their nest, I will not have more harm come to them_ ,” the dragon said imperiously.

“ _I was sent to fetch a fake egg_ ,” Marie answered.

The thought of a fake egg in her nest caused the mother dragon to rear up angrily and spew fire into the sky.

“ _Be quick and touch none of my brood_ ,” the dragon warned. “ _Or I shall roast and eat you, even if you are a favoured of Jormungandr._ ”

Marie ran, scooped up the golden egg, and ran out again.

“Not a single spell fired!” Bagman commentated from above. “Just pure bravery! She walked right up to the dragon and just grabbed the egg from beneath her! I don't know how the rest of the judges will score this one!”

~oOo~

The egg screeched when Diggory opened his in the Hufflepuff common room. Upon hearing it, Marie decided not to open hers straight away as he had. She really didn't need her ears ringing any more than they already were.

Instead, she sent hers off to Sirius with a note.

A few days later, she received a reply letter saying that he'd first opened it when he was hung over, and it was ten times worse for him – well pranked, and she could expect a retaliation from him around about Christmas time – but once he'd downed a hangover cure, he'd recognised it as mermish. His mother, crazy old bat that she was, had enjoyed listening to mermish operettas while dry. Hell for him, but it meant he recognised mermish when he heard it. He'd enclosed a translation for her. Well, he'd dropped the egg in a full bathtub and dunked his head in with it, then written down what it said.

Which was really as much translation as this particular thing needed.

Now, in the spirit of international friendship and co-operation (to say nothing of preferring everybody get out of this stupid thing alive) Marie sent a copy of the pertinent facts to each of the older champions anonymously. The screeching was mermish, could be heard clearly underwater, and she gave a translation of what it said in each the native languages of those for whom English was not their first.

It wasn't like they wouldn't have figured out such things themselves eventually, after all.

For magic dealing with travailing large bodies of water, Hel stepped up to teach Marie the most useful spells. Spells of _her_ creation, since their father was more a being of fire than water, generally speaking. Spells inspired by the ecclesiastical parting of the Red Sea that had been performed by Moses way back before even Odin had set foot on Midgard. Before Marie got to show off her big sister's inventions though, there was the Yule Ball to get through.

As soon as the ball was announced, Marie realised she wouldn't be allowed to go home to Mississippi for the Christmas holiday like she usually did. She was a bright girl, and she knew that this whole to-do was more about publicity than anything else. The Champions would be required to be at the ball, have dates, and dance.

“Fred, George, would you both please accompany me to the Yule Ball?” Marie requested.

The twins turned in surprise from their dinners. Marie had marched up to them in the great hall to ask. Just her. She'd excused herself from her other friends. Not because she didn't want witnesses, but because she didn't want to pressure either one of the twins.

“What, both of us?” they asked.

Marie nodded, and leaned in to both of them to whisper between their ears, so both would be able to hear her.

“I'm prepared to invest in your joke shop,” she offered softly.

“Deal,” they both agreed at once. They had been going to ask a couple of the chasers from the Gryffindor quidditch team, but Marie was a) their friend, b) likely to be mobbed by unwanted suitors if she didn't have someone (like them) to protect her, and c) believed in and was willing to help them realise their dream. Point (c) really just sweetened the deal to them.

A fact which they were quick to make sure Marie understood, as they didn't want her to ever think that they were only her friends because of her money or connections.

~oOo~

Marie's dress robes were a deep emerald green. The colour suited her, and she knew it. The twins wore a deep purple that was _almost_ black, but not quite, and complimented her (and their hair, which was always the harder part for carrot-tops like them) very well.

It was a slightly interesting thing, dancing the three of them together, but they'd taken one full Sunday to figure out the logistics of it. As all three of them knew how to formally dance with one partner, it was really just a matter of making adjustments. Informal dancing was much easier to do with multiple partners, and required no practice at all, so they didn't worry about that.

After they'd opened the ball and sat through a meal with the other champions and their dates, at the judges' table (where Percy had been standing in for Crouch, who was apparently ill), Marie waved them off to go and find their friends and year-mates.

They'd helped her out for the publicity bit, now they were all free to go their own ways and really enjoy the night.

Both of the twins returned to her side periodically throughout the night though, danced with her again, occasionally checked she was keeping her fluids up, wasn't being harassed by unwanted dance partners. That sort of thing.

~oOo~

Marie had just conjured herself a walking stick with a spiked end when she saw a commotion off to the side. The reason she'd had to conjure the stick was because she'd reached a sea-weed forest sort of area, and even with Hel's water-parting spell, the sea-weed was still slippery underfoot. A bit further beyond herself, out in the water, Marie could see that Delacour was being attacked by a pack of grindylows that had been hiding among the weed.

This task was probably ten times harder for Fleur than dealing with the dragon had been. Veela were creatures of fire and air, and while Marie didn't know how much the Delacour veela blood was watered down (if it was at all), being surrounded on all sides by cold water wouldn't be doing the girl any favours.

And grindylows were nasty little creatures besides.

Marie fired off a volley of spells to get the grindylows off the older girl, and reached into the water to pull the French bird onto the dry path that she was carving.

“ _Are you alright_?” Marie asked in French.

Fleur panted a bit, the adrenaline of fighting against the cruel creatures slowly ebbing, just a little bit, but she nodded in confirmation.

Marie conjured a blanket and cast a warming charm on Delacour.

“ _Come on,_ ” she urged. “ _You're not meant for all this water. Stick close to me._ ”

“ _Why are you being so generous? We are both competing against each other_ ,” Fleur queried, confused, even as she did, obediently, follow the younger girl down the water-walled path.

“ _Lots of reasons, chief among them that I do not trust the British Ministry to be able to guarantee the safety of the hostages they have at the bottom of this lake, and this competition isn't worth anybody dying over,_ ” Marie replied.

Fleur nodded, and after a little more walking, had finally pulled herself together enough to actually look around her at the parted water on either side of her, and the clear path beneath her feet.

“ _What sort of magic is this?_ ” Delacour asked. “ _We are taught no spells like this in Beauxbaton_.”

“ _I didn't learn it from any of the professors Hogwarts, that's for sure,_ ” Marie agreed. “ _I'm not telling more than that though,_ ” she added with a smile. “ _A girl needs her secrets._ ”

Fleur laughed. It was a weak laugh, but it was a laugh all the same.

They reached the mermish village in good time. The best, judging by the fact that all four hostages were still there. Marie cut the bonds holding Fred (George was probably wringing his hands with worry up in the stands), while Fleur did the same for her little sister. Both came out of their trances as soon as they were out of the water and on the dry(-er) path.

Fred gave himself a shake and was quick with the drying and warming spells, both for himself and his fellow hostage. Fleur was too busy fretting over her little sister, checking that she was unharmed and kissing her cheeks, to remember to do so herself.

“I'm so teasing Hermione about this,” Marie said when a shark-headed Bulgarian arrived in the mervillage a few minutes later.

“She was just about radiant at the Yule Ball, and that completely on account of Krum, not just because it put a few noses out of joint in Gryffindor tower over her being all mysterious about her date and then being completely transformed and gorgeous when she made her appearance,” Fred offered with a smile.

“And even with language issues, they made a good go at conversation,” Marie recalled.

“Viktor actually smiled around Miss Granger as well,” Fleur offered in accented English. “I zink zey may be good for each ozzer.”

“Talkink about us?” Viktor demanded when he had undone his partial self-transfiguration, pulled Hermione onto Marie's path, and cast the drying and warming charms as well. The drying charm didn't exactly agree with Hermione's hair, but that just gave more volume for the warming charm to stick to, so for once, she didn't mind. Much.

“ _You're a cute couple,_ ” Marie said in Bulgarian. “ _You smile more when you're around Hermione, and I've never seen her smile so wide as you make her do unless there's new books involved._ ”

Krum blushed a little, and scowled some more, but Hermione – unaware of exactly what had been said, but very familiar with Marie and the way she said things – just slipped her hand into his and smiled tentatively up at him.

“You take good care of that one Mr Krum,” Fred advised with a smile. “She's got a lot of friends who can be very scary if you upset her. She can be pretty scary herself, for that matter.”

Hermione didn't even blink, but sent a stinging hex at Fred.

“Ouch!” he yelped. “See what I mean?”

Krum's scowl softened, and he bent his already slouching frame and pressed a tender kiss to Hermione's cheek.

“So, do we wait for Diggory, or just get going?” Marie asked.

“Ced will be fine,” Fred attested at once. “Ponce is even more barmy for training than Oliver. He'll be along soon, no problem.”

They'd only been walking back towards the shore for five minutes when they saw Diggory swimming past in the other direction, a bubble-head charm in place, clearly aiming for the mervillage where his girlfriend was tied up.

~oOo~

Just to really pip everybody, Marie summoned (with a smirk on her face) Draco Malfoy's Nimbus 2001. He'd been a pest back in her first year, but after she'd made it very clear that she could give better than he could – she was American, after all, and from Mississippi at that, where anyone thinking of going swimming anywhere always checked for alligators first – he'd backed off.

Mostly anyway. Marie had relegated him to 'hair pulling' and generally ignored him. Like she was going to give any real consideration to a guy who's first reaction to any hardship was to cry for his father.

Marie would have summoned her own broom, but she didn't actually have one. She'd enjoyed learning to fly, and she was good at it – a natural, even – but she didn't want to chance falling into the broom-riding-witch stereotype by actually owning one. Or at least, not a broom built for flight, anyway. As a cleaning tool, she had no problem with someday owning a broom.

When the broomstick reached her from wherever Malfoy had stashed it, Marie mounted, took off, and flew _over_ the maze until she spotted the Cup. She promptly dived, grabbed it, and as she was flying back up to show off her prize, she felt the pull behind her navel that she was well familiar with as being the tug of a portkey.

Damn.

As soon as the portkey stopped spinning, the red light of a stunning spell was racing at her. Even as used to portkeys as she was, they still made her a little dizzy, and she had been swept away by this portkey while also flying, which had (for some reason) made it three times worse. Marie tried to dodge, but she'd stumbled and while the first stunner missed her, the second didn't.

Double damn.

~oOo~

When Marie came to, she was tied to a gravestone (badly. Now that she was awake, it would be the work of just a few seconds to wiggle her way free), and an emaciated figure with a hood over their head so she couldn't see them was approaching her with a knife.

“- you will resurrect your foe,” he (judging by the voice) said, and sliced a line down Marie's arm with a very wicked-looking knife. A knife which was used to collect up the blood that welled up in the wound, and was then wiped over the edge of a very large cauldron.

Marie was just glad, at this point, that the cut had actually been well away from the major arteries, and hadn't been very deep or very large. Only an inch long at the side of her wrist. It hurt like hell, but she wouldn't be bleeding out any time soon.

Unlike the guy who'd just cut her. He was bleeding rather horrifically from the stump where his left hand should have been.

While the cauldron bubbled disturbingly and a grotesque figure rose out of the dubious concoction, Marie was mentally going over what she'd tell people when she got back to Hogwarts. She refused to think 'if', and her mother had taught her not to panic in any situation if she could absolutely help it.

Dressed and out of the cauldron, the horrific figure approached Marie.

“Girl Who Lived,” it hissed. “Soon, that title will no longer apply,” it said with a satisfied (grotesque) smile. It took her chin between a long, spindly finger and thumb. “I am the immortal Lord Voldemort, after all. I will not be defeated by a mere girl.”

As he held her face, Marie could feel thoughts not her own invading her mind. Her occlumency was excellent, she knew it was, her father tested it at least once a week. But still the memories poured in. Horrible things. Marie noticed next that this thing that called itself Voldemort looked pained. Veins were raised all over his pale, noseless face. Teeth were clenched and bared. Marie decided that was a good time to kick, wiggle that last way free, and get the hell out of dodge.

The cup had brought her here, maybe it was portkey enough to also take her back. She grabbed Malfoy's broom on the way, just in case she'd have to fly her way back to Hogwarts.

Thankfully, that wasn't going to be an issue. The cup dumped her just outside of the maze.

“Was it _supposed_ to take me to a graveyard where some nut-job necromancer was making some simulacrum-golem-inferi-thing?” Marie demanded, her Mississippi accent thick from the stress, as she dropped both items, heaved deep breaths, and pulled her wand from its holster up her sleeve so that she could heal the cut on her wrist.

Several people paled, but Bagman was quick to get back to what he considered more important matters, namely, awarding Marie the official title of Winning Champion, as well as presenting her with a big bag of galleons. The cup, which was confirmed as no longer being a portkey, was also hers to keep.

Marie gave all of her monetary winnings to Fred and George. After all, she had promised them financial backing for their shop. Once all of that bit of fuss was over and done, Marie applied to take her OWL tests in the last few weeks before Hogwarts broke up for the summer. One year of outright crazy was enough for her. She was so not coming back in the fall, especially not with something claiming to be Voldemort up and about.

Besides, she had to sort out what was going on with all these extra memories in her head, and what seemed to be a rather nasty personality that had come attached to them. Not hers, clearly, but she didn't want it hanging around in her head.

Which meant it was something she needed to talk to her family about.

~oOo~

The first thing Loki did when Marie arrived in the dream-world that night was help her deal with the unwanted invasive personality. This was rather vital as it was disturbing their dream-world and Marie's ability to be present in it. After that, he'd had her sort out the acquired memories into a large bowl – it was the dream-world, so it didn't have to be a specially enchanted penseive – and then they reviewed her own memory of exactly what had happened.

“Whatever it is, it's touch-based,” he declared as soon as the memory was done.

“Might it be the result of your heritage mixing with the experiments done on me?” Natasha suggested softly. “You said that, even when you were made a mortal infant, you were still essentially yourself.”

Loki nodded thoughtfully.

“The human race has also recently entered their next evolutionary phase,” Hel offered. “I think the earliest specimens appeared in the... your measure of time calls it the eighteen hundreds, but they began to become more common shortly into the nineteen hundreds.”

Natasha and Marie each managed matching rueful smiles at what Hel considered 'recently'. Then again, she had been around for a millenia or so before either of them had been born.

“You're not going to be able to live a life even approaching peaceable until Voldemort at least has been permanently dealt with though,” Natasha pointed out to her daughter. “So we need to know how it's possible that he's still hanging around.”

“Which means going through the memories you got from him,” Loki agreed with a nod. “Should be able to give us an answer faster than any other way.”

When they found out about the horcruxes, Hel threw a fit (and a lot of furniture), but once she'd calmed down, she left their shared dream-world to send out her vassals to collect the pieces of Tom Riddle's soul and bring him to grovel before her throne in Helheim where he belonged.

By the time Marie had finished taking all of her OWLs – an action which stunned and horrified her friends, since she was taking them a year early – Hel was pleased to report that _all_ of Tom Marvolo Riddle was now suffering in the deepest pits of her realm.

~oOo~

With the essential requirements for her magical education completed, Marie went back home to Mississippi to try and power her way through her regular education. All while dressing appropriately for the heat and humidity, and avoiding being touched skin-to-skin because she did most definitely not have control over this strange new power.

That plan was abruptly derailed when one of the boys from Marie's neighbourhood came over to visit. He'd come under the pretence of helping Marie study, or perhaps asking for her help with his, neither Robert or Allison had been particularly clear about that. Which Marie suspected meant that Cody was actually in her room because her adoptive parents approved of him as a nice boy for her.

Marie endured though, and for the first three weeks of Cody's visits study did actually get done while he was there. About half-way through the fourth week though, he asked her about the great big map of America that she had up on her wall. A map that had a bunch of pins all over it.

Marie bit her lip, but climbed up onto her knees to look at her map.

Some time between completing her OWLs and when Cody had started visiting, her father Loki had begun teaching Marie about how to scry. She'd tried for all sorts of things, little whimsical thoughts, just to see what popped up. One of the few glimpses she'd seen so far (scrying was _hard_ ) was of a set of dogtags. They looked military, rather than fashion statement, and Marie had recited everything she'd seen on those tags to both of her parents.

Her mother had come through with some information on the owner of those tags – though 'some information' was like saying the ocean was 'a little wet'. Natasha was very thorough back when she'd been freelancing after she'd taken down the Red Room. Now that she worked for Shield, she had access to even more information, and was able to achieve a whole new level of thorough. The person who owned the tags that Marie had seen was called James Logan Howlett, and he was one of the earliest manifestations of the next stage of the human evolution that Hel had talked about. He had a truly incredible healing factor, and a man called William Stryker had taken horrible advantage of it about the time Marie was being conceived.

The full (large) parcel of everything Natasha had found had been posted hard-copy to Marie. A lot of it was the actual, original documents, stolen from the files of the previous owner. It wasn't easy reading, so she was struggling through it, but up near the top was a record of where he'd been and for how long for the last fifteen years, a point at which someone had recorded he had amnesia. He wouldn't even know his own name if it hadn't been for the guy who brought him to the hospital, a person called 'Gambit', being able to give that information. James Logan Howlett currently followed the cage fighting circuit around Canada, generally listless, purposeless, lonely and looking for answers that he probably wouldn't like when he found them.

Marie wanted to meet him. She wasn't admitting what she'd been scrying for when she saw his tags, not to anybody, but she wanted to meet him. So, she had planned for herself a road trip up to Canada, seeing the sights along the way. That was what the map was.

“Won't it be kinda cold?” Cody asked once Marie had detailed the route for him, not giving why specifically she was going.

“Well that's the point, Stupid,” she teased. “Otherwise it wouldn't be an adventure.”

“An' when you gonna do this?”

“I dunno,” Marie admitted. “After high school, before college.” Soon, in any event. She was just about ready to graduate from her regular education now – and that would be earlier than others as well. Taking the exams was going to be her fifteenth birthday present, since her adoptive parents refused to let her take the exams any sooner. Which was why all the studying. It was also why they'd brought in Cody, Marie suspected. They didn't want to lose their little girl to the big wide world just yet, even if she'd already been gone for nearly nine months out of the year for the past four years already.

While Marie was distracted by her thoughts though, Cody had shifted closer to her, and he'd tentatively pressed his lips to hers in a hopeful kiss.

Marie snapped out of her thoughts as she felt _him_ flow into her brain. With a surprised yelp, she rolled away from him and landed with a heavy thump on the floor. Then she fought back a scream as she saw all his veins standing out on his face, his eyes roll back in their sockets, and he started to convulse (just a little) where he was lying.

“What? Marie?” Robert asked frantically as he hurried in. Apparently, he'd decided the thump was worth investigating Then he noticed. “Cody?” he called to the boy.

“Marie?” Allison queried gently. She'd followed behind her husband.

“He kissed me, and then...” she trailed off to look meaningfully at where Cody was still lying, unresponsive. Thankfully not twitching any more, or with all his veins standing out.

“Allison, call an ambulance,” Robert instructed his wife firmly.

She ran from the room to do as she was told.

Marie cowered in a corner between the wall of her room and her wardrobe.

“The ambulance is on its way,” Allison reported a few minutes later as she returned to the room, then she turned to the little girl she and her husband had adopted. “Marie, are you -” she started, and reached out her hand.

“Don't touch me!” Marie nearly shrieked. She was only wearing a sleeveless tank-top and a skirt, and Allison only ever wore gloves in the kitchen or to church.

Crying, Marie explained about the strange power that had somehow manifested in her, her inability to control it, and how covering up was all that she could do. It was too warm and humid most of the time to really cover up in Mississippi, but she'd generally been careful. Cody had kissed her before she realised he was even moving closer, and...

Robert agreed to let her take her exams the next day. He'd rolled down the sleeves of the shirt he'd been wearing and given her a very, _very_ cautious hug, but he'd recognised that Marie would be better off away from them. Away from people she'd be frightened of hurting.

“You just make sure your mother knows what's going on too, and try to call us at least once a week,” he insisted. “We still love you, and want to know you're going to be alright away from home.”

“I promise.”

~oOo~

Marie managed to fit her entire life into a single bag. That it was covered in enchantments to make it bottomless, hold everything inside in stasis, easy retrieval of whatever she reached into said bag for, as well as protected against theft or damage of any kind (very important)... well, all that helped too. Marie even got her tent in her bag, and she really did love the tent that Sirius had given her last Christmas. It was perfect for hitch-hiking with. Even if it was bright purple (the pay-back that she had been promised for the unexpected mermish when Sirius was hung over), she loved it anyway.

She checked in with her family every night, and called the D'Ancantos in Mississippi every Sunday afternoon at what would be three o'clock, there. Not all of America quite fit into one time-zone, and she'd moved out of the one that her little home town fit into fairly early in her quasi-road-trip.

Natasha would have liked to check in with Marie while she was on the road – physically, not just through dream-walking – but Shield was keeping her busy. With a whole lot of help from Clint though, they managed to get an hour and a half together once a month. Not with any solid regularity, but it was better than nothing at all.

Natasha didn't hesitate to wrap her arms about her baby girl and pull her into a tight hug the first time they caught up after Rogue had left Mississippi. Both were sufficiently covered; only necks, faces and one set of fingers (Natasha wore fingerless gloves) were exposed.

“How's the latest going?” Marie asked.

“Difficult,” Natasha admitted. “With all the dirt I pulled up finding the owner of those tags of yours, well, I exhausted my employer's resources and then went even further. Naturally, they took an interest.”

Marie grimaced. “Is that a good, or a bad thing?”

“For you and your Canadian, it's good,” Natasha promised. Which meant that William Stryker's days were likely numbered.

“And how's Clint as a partner working out?” Marie questioned cautiously. “He's not giving you any trouble?”

“Oh he flirts a bit,” Natasha answered with a smirk, “but he knows nothing will come of it. He's the only one in the whole company that knows – your father and I did a really good job of hiding you away – so it's working as an alright smoke-screen. After all, if my only response to Clint's flirting is to drag him to the gym and give him a new set of bruises, then no one else is even going to try. And he is helping us to have this time together.”

Marie smiled at that. “Mother... do you think I might be able to join you and Clint one day?” she asked.

Natasha cocked her head and considered her daughter. Oh, she'd trained Marie since her baby was able to stand, in the dream-world at least, and she knew that Marie practised those lessons in the waking world as well. She knew how capable her daughter was. Actually _working_ with her daughter wasn't a thought she'd ever quite let settle in her head though. Not with all that she'd done to protect Marie from her world.

“If you want to,” she said at last. “You remember I agreed to work with them so long as they didn't know about our connection until you told them yourself, so you wouldn't be forced to join or put under watch. Clint's kept that promise. The choice is completely yours to make. It's not at all glamorous though, and you'd need to get through your current issues first.”

Marie's current issues being hew new 'skin condition': her mutation. Which she still couldn't exactly control. With help from the whole family (and a few unwilling test-subjects along the road), Marie was sure that she was making progress. She had yet to find a full and proper 'off switch' though, which she would need if she wanted to work for Shield without being outed as a mutant within the first week – and then summarily having her power abused, even if Shield were the 'good guys'.

The teenager nodded her understanding.

~oOo~

“Where are we?” Marie asked when the Big Rig she'd managed to hitch a ride in pulled over.

“Laughlin City,” the Truckie answered easily. “End of the line for you, I'm afraid. You gonna be okay?”

Marie nodded. “Yeah,” she agreed. “I'll be okay. Kinda thought Laughlin City would be bigger'n this, but I'll manage.”

“You should be able to find someone willing to give you a lift somewhere else in the pub,” the Truckie offered.

Marie smiled and nodded gratefully, and hopped out of the truck's cab onto the snowy street, bag slung over her shoulder. Her destination? The pub that had just been pointed out to her.

There were a lot of people there, but it was all rather rowdy and actually quite focused. Nobody would hear her asking for a ride to the next town in this. They were all too focused on the Cage in the middle of the latter part of the establishment.

As she looked up into the Cage as well, she saw a handsome man, no shirt, dog-tags on display against his bronzed and unmarred skin. He was drinking a whiskey like he didn't have a care in the world while the man with the microphone called for another challenger.

The lighting of the bar was poor, but Marie had memorised the only photograph of James Logan Howlett that was in the file her mother had given her. The picture was a little grainy, being from WW2, but that was him. She'd finally found who she was looking for.

Which kind of begged the question: What now?

“Ladies and gentlemen, tonight's champion, and still the King of the Cage, the Wolverine,” the MC declared as the last challenger was dragged out.

He'd finished his fight and picked up a cigar, already half-way down and lit. With his healing factor, Marie supposed he didn't have to worry about things like lung cancer.

Marie moved to sit at the bar, asked for a water when the bartender came by, and thought over her options. Just leaving without making contact... wasn't one. Neither was the approach her mother might have used. Marie was too young (only just eighteen a couple of days ago. Hitch-hiking was a really slow way to travel) and her skin too dangerous for her to even think about going the 'seduction' route. Even (or perhaps, especially) if just for first contact.

Besides, for all her parents and half-siblings had taught her, Marie hadn't ever actually _tried_ any seduction techniques in the waking world. Not once. That had had a lot to do with the fact that she really did look too young for anybody but the creepers, who she wanted nothing to do with.

“You want somethin' new honey?” the bar keep asked kindly. The bar had just about totally cleared out by now, and she'd only had a couple of sips from her glass. “Or are you stickin' with water?” his tone changed when he asked that, and he moved the tips jar further away from where Marie was sitting.

She hadn't even realised she'd been staring at it, lost in thought as she was. She was saved from answering when another body sat itself down at the bar, a couple of seats over from herself.

“I'll have a beer,” the Wolverine requested.

The barkeep handed over the man's winnings as well as the requested Molson's.

Behind the bar, the news came up on the wide-screen that was installed in the wall, and the newscaster talked about a UN summit that would be happening at Ellis Island. Stupid, in Rogue's opinion. They had nice, secure buildings all over the place, and what do they do? Go and make targets of themselves. Shield was probably crawling all over the place right that very moment.

“... to the Mutant phenomenon...”

Marie twitched. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw that the Wolverine did as well, and she saw that he'd seen her twitching.

Which was why she'd done it. Her mother would have given her a schooling if she'd given something away without actually meaning to.

Someone approached him first though.

“You owe me some money,” declared the man who'd been the final challenger in the Cage, a nice sunrise starting to come in on his face.

“Come on Steele, let's not do this,” his buddy urged softly.

He just got waved off.

“No man takes a beating like that without a mark to show for it,” the bald guy, Steele apparently, attested.

The Wolverine turned away from him, dismissing the guy in favour of his beer and his cigar.

“C'mon man, this isn't gonna work,” his friend tried again, and even tried to pull him away.

Steele just shrugged him off and leant down.

“I know what you are,” he hissed in the Wolverine's ear.

“You lost your money, you keep this up, you'll lose something else,” the Wolverine warned him.

She didn't even think when she saw the other guy pull a knife. It was only a little thing, and she knew about the Wolverine's healing ability... and his adimantium-covered claws. She still yelped a warning.

And then she got to actually see those claws, shiny, sharp, and in-person for the first time.

She hurried to follow him out of the bar, and while he marched up to the cab of his camper, Marie slipped in under the tarp that was in the trailer with his motorbike. A few cushioning and warming charms and it was comfy enough for her to doze a little once everything started moving.

~oOo~

Something poked her head, pulling her sharply from her dream-walking where she'd been reporting her status to her father, and then the tarp was ripped off her. Marie looked up and managed not to grimace at the unhappy look on his face.

“The hell you doin'?” he demanded.

“I'm sorry,” she said as she got up. “I needed a ride. Thought you might help me.”

“Get out,” he ordered.

“Where am I s'posed to go?” Marie asked.

“I don't know,” he answered.

“You don't know, or you don't care?” she countered.

“Pick one,” he offered, then turned back towards the cabin of his camper.

“You don't care,” Marie said softly, but audibly, and she knew he'd heard her.

He didn't let that stop him from getting back behind the wheel and driving off. His conscience kicked in about twenty yards on, at which point he stopped and was clearly waiting for her run over from where she'd been standing, watching him go.

“Thank you,” she said as she climbed in.

“Yeah, yeah,” he grumbled.

Marie shoved her bag down by her feet and pulled her seatbelt on. He might not be worried about going flying through his windshield, but she wouldn't recover from that sort of thing quite so fast as he would.

“I'm Rogue,” she offered.

He gave a tiny nod to indicate he'd heard her, but didn't offer any answer of his own.

Marie had come up with 'Rogue' not long after figuring out just what her mutation did. The word 'rogue' was defined and used a few different ways. Rogue; a thief. Rogue; someone unpredictable and sometimes (frequently) dangerous. Rogue; deviant from the standard. Rogue; reprehensible, but still likeable.

She pushed all of that aside – it wasn't important right now – and returned her focus to him. It was easier to watch him once she pulled the hood of her coat down though. It was warm, but it kind of got in the way for looking out the corner of her eye.

“When they come out... does it hurt?” she asked softly, eyes fixed on where his hands were on the wheel.

That didn't stop her from noticing the way his throat seized for just a second.

“Every time,” he whispered.

“I'm sorry,” she offered.

“It your fault?” he asked, more gruffly.

“No,” she said, and shook her head. “But I'm still sorry.”

She was about to say something else when her stomach gurgled, loudly. Marie ducked her head a little, embarrassed. She hadn't got anything to eat at any point while in Laughlin City, and her last chance for food before then had been before climbing into the Big Rig for an eight-hour stretch. It had been a while since she'd had anything to eat.

The Wolverine smirked at her, amused, pulled some jerky out of his glove compartment and casually tossed it into her lap.

“Thank you,” she said softly, but was quick to pull her gloves off so she could dig in.

“Just don't choke on it Kid,” he advised with a smile.

Marie smiled back – close-lipped, so as not to show off half-masticated jerky – and started rubbing her fingers together when she'd finished shoving jerky into her mouth.

He noticed, and flicked a couple of appropriate switches.

“Put your hands on the heater,” he instructed, and actually reached across to take her hands, likely so he could put them there himself.

She was quick to move her hands away though. She could deal with the stuff that got into her head, but she still hadn't found that off-switch.

“I'm not gonna hurt you Kid,” he said, but took his hand back.

“It's nothing personal,” she was quick to assure him. “It's just... when people touch my skin, something happens.”

“What?” he asked.

“Not sure exactly how it works,” Marie admitted as she pulled her gloves back on, and that was true. The how behind it was incomprehensible to her whole family, except possibly giving the explanation of _it's magic_. It couldn't be properly examined in the dream-world. “But they get hurt.”

“Fair enough,” he decided, and took another drag on his cigar. “So what kind of a name is 'Rogue'?” he asked, finally initiating a bit of conversation.

“Same kind of name as 'Wolverine',” Marie answered.

“Huh,” he scoffed lowly. “My name's Logan.”

“Marie.”

She got a half a smile for that.

“An' if you were thinkin' it, I'm not actually runnin' away from anybody,” she added. “All four of my parents know where I am, roughly.”

“Four?” Logan repeated, surprised by the number.

“A terrorist blew up my family's house back when I was a baby. I got picked up before anybody checked on my parents, and sent to an orphanage. I got adopted, but my biological parents were lookin' for me, since they weren't as dead as everyone thought at first. To keep me safe, everyone agreed to skip the custody battle as long as visiting wouldn't be a problem. So I've got adoptive parents as well as my biological ones,” she explained.

“Sounds complicated,” Logan offered neutrally. “But if you're not running away, then what's a girl from all the way down south doing up here in Canada?”

“I'm lookin' for someone,” she answered. “I... had a dream, I guess, about a set a tags.”

“Tags?” Logan queried.

“Like yours,” Marie said with a nod to where the little bits of metal rested against Logan's shirt.

He tucked them away at that.

“Well, I remembered the numbers on 'em,” Marie explained, and reached down to pull her bag from her feet into her lap, then pulled out the file Natasha had sent her. “My biological mother helped me find all this on the person they belonged to.”

“And what are you gonna do when you find this person?” Logan asked.

“Give 'em this folder,” Marie answered. “Not far in, there's a bit that says he's got amnesia. Can't remember anythin' from past almost fifteen years ago. Stopped readin' when I saw that bit. Figgered it wasn't my place to know more about this person than they did.”

“What?” Logan demanded, and hit the breaks. “What's the name of this person? There a picture in there?”

Marie bit her lip, opened the file, and pulled the photo of James Logan Howlett, taken back when he was serving in a Canadian Special Forces uniform. He was part of a group collectively known as The Howling Commandos, and it was a 'team photo'. He was standing on the other side of Captain America to Bucky Barnes, the only HC to have been lost during the war effort.

“That's... that's... me?” he said, stunned, as he stared at himself in the picture.

Marie nodded. “Sorry I didn't say anything straight up, but I didn't really know how ta...”

“It's okay,” Logan assured her, and sagged back in his seat behind the wheel. It seemed that the revelation had exhausted him, nothing else required. Logan passed the picture back to Marie, but made no effort to take the rest of the folder from her. “You just been carrying that in your bag?”

“All the way from Mississippi,” Marie confirmed, “and I hitch-hiked my way up here, detouring for all the sights along the way.”

Logan frowned. “How long you been on the road Kid?” he asked.

“Three years,” she answered.

“Shit.”

Marie smiled. “When your father's actually a Norse god and you're mother's a super-spy working for the UN, it's not actually all that bad,” she offered. “Even if Dad's just a 'gator hunter and fisherman, and Ma's a piano teacher.”

Logan huffed a laugh, it was the only even approaching sane reaction to that sort of declaration.

“Not sure how much of that I believe, but... Side of the road is probably not the best place for me to read through that,” Logan allowed after a minute. “So you hold onto that for me until we hit the next town, okay?”

Marie nodded and stuffed the folder back into her bag.


	4. Chapter 4

They didn't reach the next town. A tree on the side of road fell right in front of the camper. Right in front of it, and as Logan wasn't wearing his seatbelt, he went flying through the windshield when the front end crashed into the abruptly felled tree.

It took him a moment to climb back to his feet, and he was a little unsteady at first, but he was soon walking back to the camper, spitting blood and his injuries healing as he cracked his neck.

“You alright?” he called.

“Stuck, but unharmed,” she called back as she wriggled her wand out of her sleeve holster. “An' workin' on the first.”

Logan nodded and moved to check the tree, and the front of the camper. See if he would be able to move the former, and as for the latter, get it limping as far as the next town. A smell tickled his nose though, and the stump looked like it had been deliberately broken. Logan pushed the claws out.

Marie had, by this point, freed herself from the stuck seat-belt-and-seat situation she was in, and put out the fire that had somehow started in the back of the camper. Then she bit her tongue so as not to release the surprised gasp that had leapt into her throat at the sight of a very large, very hairy person wearing lots of fur tackled Logan, picked him up, and threw him into a tree . An impressive feat of strength, considering how much all the adimantium on Logan's bones must weigh him down.

Then the hairy guy picked up the broken-off bit of tree and used it to tee Logan onto the hood of the camper before he could regain his feet.

“Ennervate,” Marie shot out at Logan when she saw his eyes were shut and his claws had automatically retracted.

Logan shot up again, looked around, and then used the hood as a springboard to launch himself at their hairy assailant.

A red beam of light hit their attacker about a second after Logan's fists. He managed to get up from both though, and leapt away, vanishing in the snow and the trees.

“Are you two alright?” a dark-skinned, white-haired woman asked as she approached.

“Yeah,” Logan answered gruffly as he gave the two people in the one-piece biker-leathers a quick once-over. “Kid?” he called.

“I'm fine,” she answered, and hopped out of the cabin of the trailer to prove it, her bag slung over her shoulder. “Who're you?” she asked the two strangers.

“I'm Storm, this is Cyclops,” the brown-skinned beauty said, introducing herself and her companion. “We represent a safe place for mutants.”

“A safe place,” Marie repeated.

“What kind of place?” Logan asked.

“It's chiefly a school,” Cyclops supplied. “But there's room and board for all mutants offered.”

“Kid, you finish school before you started your road-trip?” Logan asked.

“Yeah,” Marie agreed. “Took a lot of extra studyin', but I got my diploma.”

“We also offer support, help, and training for those who have any sort of trouble controlling their mutations,” Storm explained quickly. “And protection. That was Sabertooth. He currently works for a mutant called Magneto. For some reason, they have apparently decided to target you.”

“Sabertooth? Magneto? Storm and Cyclops?” Logan repeated, starting to get incredulous with the whole situation. “This is the stupidest thing I've ever heard.”

“Ororo Munroe, and Scott Summers,” Storm supplied. “Magneto's real name is Erik Lensherr, but if anybody knows Sabertooth's real name, they aren't sharing. Anonymity is kind of important for our continued safety though, so if you don't mind...”

“We've got a jet waiting, just a bit down the road,” Cyclops picked up. “The school's in Westchester, New York.”

“Kid?” Logan asked.

“I don't mind either way,” Marie answered. “But I guess it would be a little less cold there?”

Logan nodded. “Give me a sec to grab my stuff. Damn trailer's been trashed anyway,” he grumbled.

“I'll get your bike,” Marie offered with a smile as she danced off around the camper towards the box-trailer hitched to the back.

“The hell you will,” Logan called after her, though he was smiling as well.

“I'll help,” Cyclops offered at once. “I teach the shop class at the school. Besides, wouldn't want her or the bike damaged by her trying to move it on her own.”

Logan nodded in acceptance. Ten minutes later, they were in the air and on their way to New York, and Logan was wondering how the kid knew just how to handle a motorbike. She hadn't needed Cyclops' help to either get it down from the box-trailer, or to get it into the jet. One-eye had done the securing once it was in place though.

~oOo~

Logan had made a start on the folder Rogue had given him while they sat together in the back of the jet as it flew down from Canada to New York State in the USA. She sat next to him, holding his hand in her gloved one, while the folder rested on his lap and he used his other hand to turn the pages. That little bit of physical contact kept him grounded as he read backwards through his own history.

“Your mother researched all this?” he asked softly.

“Uh-huh,” Rogue confirmed.

“She's good,” he praised.

“One of the best,” she answered proudly, a smile on her face.

“Glad she's not working for Stryker,” Logan said as he turned over another page. The next had a list of all the mutants that Stryker had... collected. All of the mutants he'd used, caged, employed, blackmailed, manipulated, and experimented on.

It wasn't fun reading, but Logan made himself read it. He'd been part of this before he'd gotten out, then been tricked into being part of it again before he very forcibly shut it all down. Still had nightmares about when the adimantium was bonded to his bones. Good to finally have a name for the impressive metal that never needed sharpening – and apparently coated his natural bone claws, rather than being completely artificial.

Before Stryker had picked him and his brother up, Logan's life was just about a history of all the wars Canada had fought in, starting with the American Civil War. Canada wasn't quite a nation at that stage, but that hardly mattered to this particular file. Later, he and his brother got sent to Africa for the Second Boer War, then it was World War One and Two, which were followed by Korea and then 'Nam, though they'd had to join the American army for that last one. Canada didn't officially participate in the Vietnam war.

That last one had been where and when Stryker had picked them up, so clearly going wherever wars were happening had ultimately been a mistake.

Logan had finally reached where the records ran out just as the noises coming from the engine changed.

“We're here,” Scott called back to them from his place in the co-pilot's chair.

“C'mon,” Ororo urged. “We'll get you two settled in, then you can meet the Professor.”

“He should be done teaching his physics class by then,” Scott agreed, just a little dryly.

~oOo~

“What is this place?” Logan asked once they'd been shown to an austere office and introduced to a bald man in a wheelchair, and a red-head in a red dress.

A man called Professor Charles Xavier, and a woman called Jean Grey.

“My School for the Gifted,” the Professor answered. “A place where mutants can complete their educations in safety and anonymity.”

“Hiding, you mean,” Rogue noted.

“Anonymity is a mutant's first defence against the world's hostility,” Xavier countered. “To the public, it's a school for gifted youngsters, nothing more. Cyclops, Storm, and Jean were some of my first students.”

“No code-name?” Rogue asked, question directed to the red-head in question.

There was a moment of silent floundering before Jean gave up and shook her head.

“I protected them, taught them to control their powers,” Xavier took up once more, “and in time, teach others to do the same.”

“A visor, or a pair of sunglasses, isn't what I'd call control,” Logan said. “It's what I'd call a stop-gap.”

“What would you call control?” Ororo asked curiously.

It was Rogue who answered, instead of Logan.

“I'd say you've got 'control' when you don't need the shades any more,” she stated plainly. “I can guess why you pro'lly don't wanna practice though.”

Scott shifted uncomfortably where he stood.

“The students are mostly run-aways,” Xavier pressed on. “Frightened, alone. Some with gifts so extreme, they've become a danger to themselves and those around them. Like you, Rogue,” he offered kindly.

“You have someone else here who can't touch people?” Rogue queried.

“We have all sorts,” Xavier diverted carefully. “And here you can be surrounded by others your own age. You can learn here, be accepted, not feared.”

“I guess I've only got my high school diploma,” Rogue allowed tentatively. “I could go for a college degree.”

“And after?” Logan demanded. He wanted to know what would be expected of them if they accepted all this hospitality. “What then?”

“Entirely up to you,” Ororo promised. “Rejoin the world as educated people, or stay on to teach others, to become what the kids started calling 'X-men', and I admit, we kinda picked it up too.”

“There are mutants out there with incredible powers,” Xavier pressed. “Many who do not share my respect for mankind. If no one is equipped to oppose them, then humanity's days could be over. Please, just give us forty-eight hours to find out what Magneto wants with you,” he requested, and the plea was directed to Logan. “And I will use all of my powers to help piece together what you've lost, and find what you're looking for.”

Logan looked to Rogue, to get an idea of what she thought of all this. She'd left her home three years ago, just to track him down and give him a file about his own life. He owed her for that.

Rogue gently squeezed his hand.

He sighed.

“Rogue is plenty smart enough for college, and I don't remember ever goin' to school at all,” Logan decided at last, and looked over the collection of very clean people in front of him. “So how about we just work with that for now?”

“ _You_ want to enrol as a student?” Scott asked, surprised.

~oOo~

Marie smiled to herself as she walked in on her parents kissing. Dream-walked, to be specific. It wasn't the first time, it wouldn't be the last, and considering how her father was Aesir and her mother seriously 'tweaked' by the Red Room... there would be no “Ick! Old people kissing!” reaction for... quite some time. Besides, she knew that they could only be together like this, unless her father found some way down to Earth without Odin finding out about it.

He was working on it, but it wasn't easy.

“Are we celebratin' something?” she asked when Loki finally set Natasha back on her feet.

He'd been holding her a foot off the floor and spinning her around while they kissed. It was clearly a joyful moment.

“Marie!” Loki cried happily. Two great strides and he was before her, whereupon he swept her up into his arms and spun her around, just as he had been doing for Natasha – though without the lip-lock.

Marie shrieked with surprised laughter as she was spun around by her father.

“Hey, come on, tell me!” she begged. “What's the party for?”

“Your father has found another path through the realms to us. A way around Odin's measures and Heimdall's sight,” Natasha said, her face flushed with happiness.

“For the first time in centuries, I was able to visit with Fenris in person, and with Hel, and Jormungandr,” Loki said. “And tomorrow, I'm going to slip down to Midgard. The only trick then will be finding you two.”

“I'm in Westchester, New York,” Marie offered at once. “Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters.”

Natasha frowned. “You were in Canada last night. How'd you get there so fast?” she asked, confused and concerned.

Marie conjured the memory of being attacked by Sabertooth and then collected by the X-Men for her parents to review.

“You found him then,” Loki noted, as with a gesture the figure of the Wolverine was isolated from the memory for his consideration. “You like him?”

Marie nodded.

“Then I'll have to meet him when I come to visit you at this school,” Loki decided.

Marie smiled. “Just not while he's in class, okay Father? Logan's decided to take advantage of the fact it's kinda a school for freaks, get educated since he can't remember ever learning school stuff.”

“According to his file, he was only ever as educated as a soldier in the army needed to be,” Natasha pointed out. “A lot of the time, soldiers didn't need a lot of schooling.”

Marie nodded again, acknowledging that fact. Then a thought struck her.

“Will I be getting a new little brother or sister, now that you can visit us, Father?” she asked.

Natasha blushed at the implication, while Loki coughed into his hand.

“That's up to your mother,” Loki said firmly.

“Maybe,” Natasha allowed. “Would you like a brother or sister?”

“I...” Marie hesitated. “I'd want to be able to touch 'em.”

Natasha and Loki both wrapped their arms around their daughter.

“I'll help,” Loki promised as he pressed a kiss to Marie's temple. Her powers didn't matter when dream-walking, where reality was flexible. “I'll be _able_ to help.”

Marie hugged her parents back.

At that moment, a scream echoed out from beyond the house that was their part of the dream world.

“That's Logan's voice,” Marie recognised.

Loki let the house fade from around them, and drew them all closer to where the clawed mutant's mind was.

“He's trapped in his terrors,” Loki said after a moment of analysing the dream beyond the private walls of the individual mind. Walls reinforced with pain and anger and hate and fear. Walls that it would not be wise to breach. “When he wakes, it will be violently.”

“I can't leave him trapped in that,” Marie insisted.

“You can either slip into his dream and risk yourself against the machinations of his horrors, or you can go to his room and wake him,” Loki said plainly.

“Love you both,” Marie said, and kissed first her mother, then her father on the cheek. Then she faded away and woke up.

~oOo~

“Logan,” Marie called as she hovered cautiously over him in her pink nightgown.

He was tossing and turning in his bed, no shirt on and covered in sweat.

If she'd known he slept without a shirt, she'd have grabbed a pair of gloves so that she could shake him awake without fear of accidentally hurting him.

“Logan, wake up,” she urged him.

Then he did, and just as Loki had warned, he woke violently.

A roar, and his claws were out, and she shrieked in shock and pain as they went right through her chest and out her back.

For a moment, he just stared at her, shocked and horrified by what he'd done. Then he pulled his claws back in, and Marie found she couldn't even gasp at that, only stumble a bit to the side until she hit the edge of the bed. A detached part of her brain supplied that what that meant was he'd probably sliced through her wind-pipe, meaning she couldn't use her lungs.

“Help me,” Logan called as he carefully guided Marie to sit on the bed by him. His hands were safe on her sleeves. “Somebody _help_!” he yelled urgently.

Rogue deliberately ignored the danger to Logan as she set one of her bare hands over his. A mixture between an offer of comfort to him, and the only real option that she had for saving herself at this point.

He stiffened at the feel, and Marie quickly pulled away. It wasn't like she needed to hold on. She could feel herself healing already, could feel herself continuing to heal even as Logan stared at her with his mouth hanging open and his chest seized as he fought through the pain of her mutation's pull.

Particularly, he was staring at the part of her chest where his claws had gone through. Three perfect little lines that were healing up as he watched.

“Sorry,” she wheezed softly, still only able to get a little wind into her lungs. “Are you alright?”

“Am _I_ -? Rogue, Kid...” Logan choked out as a bunch of teenagers thundered up to the doorway.

The first to reach that point stopped and stared as the three perfect little lines on Marie's back closed up without even leaving a scar. Scott flicked on the light and they were able to see it all that much more clearly.

“I'm healing,” Rogue said, and her voice was stronger. “Just fine, see? But you were having terrors and I just touched you.”

“Did you know you'd heal?” Logan demanded softly, his large hands now gripping her sleeve-covered arms firmly. “Did you know you could do that?”

Marie bit her lip, then nodded. Her various attempts to control her skin along the road had needed test subjects after all, and some of them had been mutants. She knew very well what she could do – but still the ability to turn her skin completely _off_ eluded her.

“Rogue? Logan?” Ororo called. “Everything alright?”

“There was an accident,” Rogue called back, but her voice was still weak.

“Please let the kids know to not try and wake me up from a nightmare,” Logan added. “This time, thanks to a combo of Rogue's mutation and mine, everything turned out okay. No guarantees for anybody else.”

Ororo nodded.

Jean started ushering the kids back to their rooms and beds.

~oOo~

Logan was in the lower levels of the mansion, getting a medical check-up after the previous night's misadventures (and being tested on his academic aptitude at the same time, the multitasking was Ororo's idea). Dr Grey was also running extra tests on him to see what-all had been done to him, and what was his mutation. Logan hadn't shared the file Rogue had given him, apparently, so they didn't have the records to know. Rogue had been in shortly after breakfast so that a bunch of quick x-rays and scans could be taken – to make sure she really was properly healed. She'd been out before ten.

Now Rogue was outside, enjoying the sun as she caught up on some reading and waited for the visit that she alone knew was coming. Specifically, she was reading her way through a small pile of magical newspapers, spelled to look like their non-magical equivalents to anybody who did not themselves have a magical core.

She kept up correspondence with her old school friends of course – she was a Hufflepuff, that's what they did – but some things just needed a little extra information to understand, hence the papers. Not that there was a whole lot of journalistic integrity in the British rag _The Daily Prophet_ , but between it, _The Quibbler_ and letters from her friends, Marie was able to figure out everything well enough.

Susan had recently entered the Auror programme. The _Prophet_ suspected there would be another generation of Bones women running the department soon. Fred and George were doing well with their shop, news that was reinforced by the large advertisements they were able to afford in both papers. Dumbledore was dead – and with his passing, Rita Skeeter was free to finally drag all the old man's dirty laundry out of the shadows and into the public eye, though how much of that was true or just Rita's poison quill, it was hard to tell.

Hannah was engaged to Ernie, would be marrying him some time in June, and would Marie _please_ come back to England to be one of her bridesmaids? It would be quite the event, since Ernie's grandfather had been made Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot since Dumbledore's passing.

Hermione had taken up an apprenticeship under McGonagall, and there was a little speculation in the direction that the young witch would take up the post of Transfiguration Professor when she'd completed it. At the moment, the Headmistress of Hogwarts was still teaching, though she'd had to pass on the position of Head of Gryffindor to the new Defence teacher – the curse there was finally broken, now that Voldemort was completely, totally, utterly, categorically _dead_.

There had been several staffing changes, actually. Binns had been exorcised and replaced by a Ravenclaw alumnus; Snape had retired; Divination had been moved out of its tower to the ground floor and McGonagall had somehow persuaded one of the centaurs to teach the subject – though apparently Sybil Trelawny, the previous Divination teacher, was permitted to continue living in the castle. It wasn't like she came down from her tower all that often, so she was hardly a disturbance about the place.

Sirius was still voting proxy for the Potter seat in the Wizengamot, and was hemming and hawing about breaking up with his non-magical girlfriend. Not because she was non-magical, but because Sirius was beginning to feel like, if she were a witch, she'd be slipping him love potions.

“Rogue,” a voice called.

She looked up from her reading to see one of the many students she'd been introduced to on her initial tour around the school.

“Bobby, right?” she checked.

The boy nodded. “Rogue... what happened?” he asked. “They say you're stealing other mutant's powers.”

“That would imply that any mutant I touch loses their powers,” Rogue countered, “which doesn't happen, if you were hoping for it.”

Bobby shook his head. “Rogue, you never use your powers on another mutant!” he said, not loudly, but very firmly.

“I had no choice if I wanted to live to see today,” Rogue countered, “and the only person who has any right to be offended by what I did is actually really glad that I could.”

“If I were you, I'd get myself out of here,” Bobby spoke over her.

Marie narrowed her eyes at him then. “What do you mean?” she asked.

“Listen, the other students are freaked,” Bobby said plainly. “And Professor Xavier is furious. I don't know what he'll do with you.”

Rogue turned away from the boy.

“I think it'll be easier on your own,” the boy pressed. “You should go.”

Just then, an elegant, long-fingered hand slammed down on Bobby's shoulder.

“You should leave my daughter alone,” a voice like silk-covered steel whispered.

“Father!” Marie yelped happily, and stood from the bench she'd been sitting on.

Loki grinned and circled around so that he could sweep his baby girl up into his arms.

“Oh, my little girl, I've missed you so much,” he said as he swung her about happily.

“Father, I'm eighteen!” Marie objected, though she was smiling.

“And you're only just five-two,” Loki countered with a fond smirk as he set her down on the grass again. “Which makes you the smallest person in our family.”

Rogue rolled her eyes, but wrapped her arms around her father's torso and just burrowed her face into his chest happily.

Unseen by either father or daughter (they were both just too wrapped up in the fact that they were holding each other while standing on the grass of Midgard, and not dreaming at all), Bobby frowned and left.

~oOo~

The students stopped and stared at the man in the impeccable suit that was walking through the halls of their school, an arm casually thrown around the girl they now all worried about being within a foot of, for fear of an accident. The man was tall, almost seven foot, and frightfully handsome with his smooth skin, his bright green eyes, and his jet black hair.

Not enough that they rarely (if ever) saw any adults around the school that weren't their teachers, but the Rogue was cuddled up to his side. There was a beaming smile on her face and she was as carefree as could be, even though this stranger's hand was almost perilously close to the gaps in her clothing where the skin showed – and they now all had some idea as to what that skin was capable of.

Rogue pointed her guest to a vacant couch, they sat down together, and every ear in the place metaphorically (and in some cases, literally) bent in their direction. The man held out his hand and twisted it, and after that it was possible to _see_ that they were talking, but utterly impossible to _hear_ anything they said.

All the students who were watching – some being subtle about it, others blatantly staring – were surprised to see the Rogue take her so-very-long gloves off and remove her scarf, so her neck and arms were exposed. Eyes around the room bugged out when the man took it upon himself to tuck her hair back behind her ears, and let his hand linger on her cheek. He wasn't wearing gloves after all.

The Rogue winced, and the man grimaced.

All of them could see dark veins appearing over his face and on the hand that was touching her, could see the way they all pulsed towards the Rogue.

She had to force his hand from her cheek, and she was visibly babbling at him, though it was still impossible to hear what was being said.

The man gave his head a shake, blinked a couple of times, then smiled up down at her and said something that must have been reassuring, because the Rogue calmed down and smiled back.

The man raised his hand again, and set it on top of her hair.

The students all flinched, anticipating a repeat of just a moment before, but it seemed that the Rogue's hair was barrier enough, that only skin to _skin_ contact worked.

The pair closed their eyes, and the students recognised a telepathic connection. They'd all seen the Professor and Dr Grey practising, using their powers for one reason or another – this was probably a deep level of psychic connection, since the Professor only concentrated like these two were doing if he was going in deep.

They were at it for so long, most of the students got bored of watching and went back to what they'd been doing before. A couple of them didn't twitch though, kept their eyes on the pair, and saw when they came out of it.

The Rogue stared at her hands. The man smiled and pressed a kiss to her forehead, then pulled away. There had been no sign of the Rogue's life- and power-sucking mutation.

She was grinning hugely as she tackled the man in a hug, and he kissed her brow and cheek a couple more times.

It was about then that the Professor arrived, with Cyclops at his side.

~oOo~  
  


“Rogue,” the Professor called, just a little sternly.

“Yes Professor?” Marie answered innocently.

The suited man seated beside her smirked, but gave her a gentle nudge.

“Father, this is Professor Charles Xavier, and Mr Scott Summers,” Marie presented. “Professor, Mr Summers, this is my father.”

“James Potter, British Lord,” Loki presented himself as he stood. He would be found by Heimdall in an instant if he introduced himself by his real name. James Potter was a generally common enough name that it wouldn't catch the Gatekeeper's notice, however. “Thank you for looking out for my little princess.”

“I thought Rogue was a run-away?” Scott said, clearly confused despite the way his sunglasses hid nearly half his expression.

Marie shook her head. Sure she hadn't said, but they hadn't asked, either.

“Due to a long list of extenuating circumstances, topping which is the fact that I've been legally dead for almost two decades, I've been unable to actually physically be in my daughter's company since she was fifteen months old,” Loki explained.

“I'd been planning on getting my diploma early and goin' on a road-trip before my mutation manifested,” Rogue offered, “and the couple who adopted me when my real parents were assumed dead knew that I'd be tryin' to catch up with them.”

“Now, we've got your little difficulty sorted out,” Loki said, “would you mind terribly if I disappeared to see about talking your mother into giving you a younger sibling?”

Marie smiled, eyes shut as she twitched a little.

“Father, you and Mother are both still young and attractive people, but I don't need the mental image in my head of you two having reunion sex,” she answered plainly.

Loki laughed.

“Little difficulty?” Scott asked the Professor softly.

Not softly enough though, as both father and daughter heard.

“My inability to touch people without hurting them,” Rogue clarified. It turned out that the secret to controlling her _mutation_ was in her _magic_. It wasn't an answer that would help many (if any) of the other kids, but it would help her, and that was enough. She turned to her father. “I thought you wanted to meet Logan,” she reminded him.

“Ah, yes, I did. Do. Quite right,” Loki agreed, “and I suppose your mother is working right now and I shouldn't intrude...”

“You didn't make plans last night? I'll send her a text while you talk to Logan,” Marie offered with a teasing smile.

Loki nodded, pressed a kiss to her forehead, and gave her a one-armed, fatherly squeeze.

“Gentlemen, if one of you would please be so kind as to direct me to wherever you're keeping Mr Howlett?” Loki requested.

~oOo~

Marie was in too good a mood. While her father went to talk to Logan, she decided to go out to a café and have a treacle tart and a cream soda to celebrate having control over her skin. While she waited for her order to be brought out, Marie sent that text to her mother.

_Father in Westchester. On his way to you as soon as he's done talking to Logan, but he doesn't want to interrupt your work. Skin problem resolved. Love you._

A full minute hadn't passed when she got an answer.

_It's a paperwork day. I'll let him know myself he's free to interrupt. Glad you've got everything under control. Love you too._

Marie smiled, and smiled wider when her treacle tart and cream soda were set in front of her by the waitress.

Not that she got to taste either, as at that moment, a needle abruptly slid into her skin and delivered a very fast acting sedative.

~oOo~

“Father, Mother, I hate to interrupt, but I think I've just been kidnapped,” Marie called out into the dream-world, pulling her parents (both of whom were awake) to her as hard as she could.

“I haven't left the Institute yet,” Loki answered as he appeared, not even asking if she was sure, and a dark expression taking over his face.

“And I did say it was a paperwork day,” Natasha said as she also faded into view. She was clearly just as unhappy as her husband over the prospect of her baby girl being snatched.

“Can you tell who -?” Loki began. His issues with his children being taken were old and extremely valid.

“Well, there was a bite of metal like I was getting an injection at the doctor's, and then I'm out like a light,” Marie offered. “So not the Allfather, and probably not any magicals.”

“At least it's not as bad as it could be,” Loki grumbled. “I'm on my way, baby girl.”

“I'm coming too,” Natasha insisted at once. “Give me five to suit-up. Of course, if Clint catches me at that, he'll want to come along as well.”

“I have no idea where I'm being taken, and I am currently drugged, so you've got a bit longer than that until I can give you directions,” Marie pointed out.

“I can find you anywhere,” Loki said plainly, “and I dare say these X-Men will also be willing to lend a hand as soon as they find out you've been taken. Your Mr Howlett, most certainly.”

A hopeful smile lit up the girl's face.

Loki sighed. “Yes yes,” he grumbled. “He's impressed me. I approve. There's still the matter of getting your mother's approval though,” he pointed out.

“And I'll get a chance to meet him myself when we come get you,” Natasha said with a resolute nod. “Loki, should I meet you in Westchester, or start sweeping the country for our baby?”

~oOo~

“What's wrong?” Logan asked when Loki came back to himself in Xavier's mansion. They'd been having a perfectly normal conversation, right up until he'd turned his gaze inwards and stopped responding to outside stimuli except in the most basic of fashions.

“Someone has just kidnapped my little girl,” Loki answered shortly.

“Rogue?” Logan checked, eyes wide with concern.

Loki nodded.

“Mr Potter, if there's anything I can do to help -” Logan started.

“That is very much appreciated,” Loki agreed as he raised a hand to cut off the other man's concerned offer. “My baby isn't the damsel-in-distress type, all of our family are quite capable, but she's been drugged and there's no knowing who has taken her or why.”

“The Professor should be able to help,” Storm offered at once. She'd stayed behind to continue discussing education options with Logan (and Rogue's father, once she found out who he was).

“Thank you,” Loki agreed. “I admit the 'who' and 'why' don't matter to me nearly so much as 'where' right now though, and that I need no help with. Knowing anything else will just make getting her back... less messy.”

“D'you think it could be the same people that attacked us on the road in Canada?” Logan suggested.

“But why would they want...?” Storm questioned, confused.

“A girl who can absorb the mutations and memories of others?” Loki finished, an eyebrow raised. “Not for anything good, of that, you can be quite sure. At least I needn't worry about her virtue, due to the known nature of her mutation.”

Both Logan and Storm felt both sick with worry at the implication and mildly relieved that Rogue was safe from that specific form of violation.

Loki's eyes fluttered to half-mast as he sought his baby's physical presence with his magic.

“I believe that they are moving towards New York City,” he declared.

“Wasn't there some sort of big political thing happening there soon?” Logan queried, semi-rhetorically, the recollection of the news story the other night when he'd met Marie looming large in his mind's eye. “Just about all the world leaders in one place, Ellis Island. If whoever's taken Rogue forces her to absorb some mutation there...”

“She could practically be an unwilling time bomb,” Ororo finished, eyes wide with horror.

“Thankfully, that won't be an issue,” Loki said firmly.

“Mr Potter?” Ororo questioned, brow furrowed in confusion.

“I helped her get her mutation under control before making my way down here to meet Mr Howlett,” Loki explained. “She won't be absorbing anything she doesn't want.”

“You said she was drugged though,” Logan pointed out cautiously. “That won't be a problem?”

Loki shook his head. “No,” he declared with certainty. “She'll have to wake up and turn her mutation on if they want her to absorb anything, and when she wakes up, she'll give them hell,” he said with a wicked grin.

A smile crept up Logan's face as he thought on that, and Ororo was clearly holding in giggles. After all, when a girl has been kidnapped is never the place for giggles, even at the prospect of the victim being the sort to make her captors regret their decision.

~oOo~

The problem with her situation, Marie was learning, was that the unlocking charm wouldn't do her any good if there was a mutant nearby who would feel every time the metal in the handcuffs clicked, and quicker than she could shed the cuffs, he clicked them right back. She didn't want to magically exhaust herself with pointless attempts either. Stupidity was, after all, repeating the same action over and over again, and expecting a different result – and Marie was not stupid.

So, instead, she decided to be generally passive-aggressive until she had a chance to do something other than glare at her captors.

The mutant who had introduced himself to her as Magneto (she'd demanded to know his _real_ name, the name his father gave him, and he'd admitted to Erik Lensherr) stepped into the part of the boat where she was restrained. The boat itself had stopped, pulled up along side Liberty Island.

“Magnificent, isn't she?” he offered as he looked out the window to the giant statue of Lady Liberty.

“I've seen it, and I bet she was prettier when she was polished and new,” Marie countered.

“I first saw her in nineteen-forty-nine,” Magneto shared, almost companionably. “America was going to be the land of tolerance. Of peace,” he said, and there was a hint of derision in his tone, as though he scoffed at his own youthful naivety.

“And a fine example you're setting,” Marie quipped. “You're planning to kill me, I know you are.”

Magneto turned away from the window to look at her, and there was a truly apologetic expression on his face.

“Yes,” he agreed, “because there is no 'land of tolerance'. There is no peace. Not here, or anywhere else. Women and children, whole families, destroyed simply because they were born different from those in power.”

“But now you're the one with power, and it's you doing it,” Marie sneered. “Destroying lives, tearing apart families. I suppose your reasoning is more justified than, say, Hitler's? He was only paving the way for the 'master race' too, after all.”

All colour drained out of the old man's face.

“I'd apologise for bringing up bad memories,” Marie offered, since she could tell her captor was old enough to have been alive during the second world war. “But I'm handcuffed and about to be killed for someone else's ideals.”

From just outside of the cabin, there came a heavy thump, like a body being dropped.

Magneto frowned and pushed aside the black plastic that covered the door.

Marie smiled to see that Sabertooth was down, a carbon-fibre arrow sticking out of his back – and a glass tube in that arrow that had clearly held some sort of drug before it was injected into the feral mutant. A drug which, judging from the snore that had just erupted from him, was a fast-acting and very potent tranquilizer.

Magneto stepped out over him, clearly intent on finding whoever it was that had attacked his most robust of allies.

Marie was left in the cabin of the boat, only able to hear the yelling going on outside. She decided to try her luck with the cuffs again, since Magneto was distracted.

“Alohamora,” she incanted, her hands twisted so that her fingers were at least touching her wand where it was held to her forearm by the basilisk-skin wand-holder.

The cuffs clicked open, and as they didn't immediately clicked back, Marie was able to pull them off. She took a moment to rub at her chaffed wrists, then to rub feeling back into her legs, which had gone numb from where and how she'd been forced to sit for so long. Carefully, she stood.

A familiar red-head appeared in front of her then.

“Marie,” Natasha breathed as she pulled her daughter into a tight embrace. “Are you alright baby?”

“A little traumatised,” Marie admitted, a wobble in her voice now that she was in her mother's arms and allowed to stop being brave. Of course, she was holding onto her mother just as tightly as Natasha was holding her. “But I'm not hurt.”

“Your new employers are very industrious, my love,” Loki said when he stepped into the cabin with them a moment later. “Agent Barton reported the capture of Magneto, only for Director Fury to radio back five minutes later saying that a completely metal-free prison was ready and waiting, and a similarly metal-free transport was on its way to collect him.”

“Erik Lensherr has been on the radar for years,” Natasha replied as she held out an arm for her husband to join the hug. “This is the first time he's ever attempted something quite as radical as exposing a bevy of world leaders to unsafe levels of radiation though.”

~oOo~

“... So, I'm getting a younger sibling then? And you approve of my choice for boyfriend?”

“In order: probably, and reluctantly.”


End file.
